SCENE III.--A room in which are seen fleeces of wool, a turn

(spinning-wheel) and other appliances for spinning. Duffy seated,

carding and making rolls of wool, which were placed in a cayer

(winnowing sieve.) Over a while she rises and exclaims:--

"Cuss the carding and spinning! What the devil shall I do now the wool

is carded, for I can neither spin nor knit, and the devil take such work

for me."

From behind some wool comes a devil, in the shape of a black man, with

half-cocked, squinting eyes, and the barbed or forked tip of his tail

just seen below his coat skirts.

DEVIL:--"My dear, here I am, come at your call, ready to do all you wish

for very little pay. Only agree to go with me at the end of three long

years, and for all that time I'll do your spinning and knitting and

everything else you wish for, and even then, if you can tell me my name

at three times asking, you may go or stay, till another time."

DUFFY:--"Well, I don't mind much: anything for a change. What ded'e say

you were called?"

DEVIL, winking:--"You have only to prick your arm and draw blood to sign

our agreement you know."

DUFFY:--"My word is as good as my mark. Spin and knit for me if you

will; and I'll have, that while, a courant in the orchard and a dance at

the mill."

In leaving, DUFFY says:--"Bolt the door, that no one may see who is

doing the work."

"Stop and let me take the measure of your foot," says the devil, in

stringing the wheel as handy as if he had been used to spinning all his

life.

FATHER CHRISTMAS comes before the curtain and says:--"Good people, you

see that Duffy wans't at all scared at the Bucca-boo's appearance,

because in old times people were so much used to dealings with the

devil--women especially--that they didn't mind him. Duffy is now gone

off by the outer door and stair, to merrily pass the day; and old Jone,

hearing a rumble all through the house, thinks her to be busy at work."

Duffy passes a great part of her time at Trove Mill, near at hand; where

a crowd of women high and low, meet to take their turn at grinding,

serging, &c. Whilst some work others tell stories, sing, or dance on the

green, near which grew many old oaks, sycamores, and elms, in a place

still called the rookery, a little above.

There was a great friendship between Duffy and Old Betty, who worked the

mill, because this old dame, having long had strange dealings, saw at

once, by a stocking Duffy pretended to be knitting, that a stitch was

always down and that the work was none of hers.

In the evening, Duffy hearing, when she came in, the devil still

spinning, thought she would see him at work and try to learn something.

Looking through the latch-hole she saw what she took to be a woman,

seated, and spinning with a small treddle-turn such as is used for

spinning thread, and the wool-turn (with a wheel as large as that of a

coach) put aside. When she looked around she knew that it was only the

devil dressed in clothes like what she wore. He had on a loose bed-gown,

petticoat, and towser (large coarse apron or wrapper,) with a nackan

(large 'kerchief) thrown loosely over his head and shoulders. As Duffy

entered, he turned around and said, "How are'e, my dear? Here I am, you

see, busy at work for'e. See what I've already spun," he continued,

pointing to a heap of balls in the corner, and skeins of yarn hanging on

the walls.

She stood wondering, with eyes and mouth wide open, to see how handy the

devil spun, and yet seemed to do nothing with his hands but pull off the

yarn whilst his foot worked the treddle, and a ball dancing on the floor

wound up itself!

"Arreah! faix," said Duffy, "I should have taken 'e for a woman if I

hadn't chanced to spy your cloven foot, and your tail hanging down, and

I don't much admire 'e in petticoats."

"There's good reason for wearing them, however," replied he; "besides,

they are handy for such work, and if you will come here on Saturday

night you will find, under that black fleece, ever so many pairs of

stockings, both for you and the squire. I know his measure, and see if I

don't well fit both of ye. So now good night."

Before she could wish him the same he disappeared, and all the yarn of

his spinning along with him, leaving nothing to show that he had ever

been there but a strong smell of brimstone.

Duffy didn't wait till dark night on Saturday, but went up to the

wool-chamber about sunset. The Bucca-boo had just left work, and, having

thrown off his petticoats, stood before her dressed like a sporting

gentleman. He bowed as she entered and, handing her half-a-dozen pairs

of stockings, all as strong as broadcloth and as fine as silk, said,

"Excuse me, my dear, from staying a moment longer, as I must be away

before Buryan bells are rung; else, some mishap may befall me."

"I wish 'e well till I see 'e again, and thank 'e, Mr.

What-shall-I-call-'e," said Duffy, taking the stockings from his hand.

"You may call me captain," he replied, and vanished in a flash of

lightning with a roar of thunder that shook the house.

On Sunday morning, when Squire Lovell was getting ready to don his

velvet suit, that he might ride to church in grand state, as was his

wont, Duffy brought him a pair of stockings suitable for the occasion.

"You see, master," said she, "that I havn't been idle, to spin and knit

ye a pair of such long stockings in three days and the work so fine

too." He put on the stockings, admired the beautiful knitting and good

fit; then to show his delight at having such nice hose, the like of

which were never on his legs before, he kissed Duffy again and again.

It was late when he reached Church-town. After churching, he stopped, as

usual, to exchange greetings with other gentry of Buryan. Everyone

admired his fine stockings. The ladies enquired how and where he

procured them, saying there was no one in the parish who could do such

good work; one and all declared they were fit for a king.

The fame of Squire Lovell's stockings drew crowds of people to Buryan

church on the following Sunday. Old and young wanted to feel his legs.

They couldn't be satisfied with looking, and so they continued to come

from farther and farther, Sunday after Sunday. Church-town, for some

weeks, was full of people like on a fair or feasten tide.

[It will be understood that great part of the foregoing, as well as the

narrative parts of what follows, is related by Father Christmas, in his

character of Chorus. He enters into details about the devil's wonderful

spinning with a turn (spinning-wheel) of his own invention, that took

wool from the fleece, without carding, and passed it into the spinster's

hands all ready for knitting or weaving. He also related many other

surprising exploits of these sable gentry, such as their church-building

in out-of-the-way places, like that of St. Levan, of their amiable

intercourse with witches, &c. Thus, as fancy dictated, he entertained

his audience until the curtain rose.]

We next behold Squire Lovell's kitchen, with Jone, rather the worse for

liquor, on a chimney-stool or bench in a broad and deep fire-place, such

as used to be found in every West-country mansion, when wood and turf

were the only fuel. She makes awful groans and screeches, till Duffy

enters. Then Jone says "Oh Duffy, you can't think what cramps I have in

my stomach and wind in my head, that's making it quite light. Help me

over stairs to bed, and you wait up to give master his supper."

The old housekeeper is led off by Duffy, who soon returns and seats

herself on the chimney-stool.

Then Huey Lenine enters and says:--"What cheer, Duffy, my dear? Now thee

cus'nt (can'st not) say that the lanes are longer than the love, when

I'm come to see thee with this rainy weather."

"Joy of my heart," said she, "come by the fire and dry thyself."

Huey sits on the outer end of the chimney-stool. After a long silence,

the following dialogue takes place:--

DUFFY:--"Why dos'nt thee speak to me than, Huey?"

HUEY:--"What shall I say than?"

DUFFY:--"Say thee dos't love me, to be sure."

HUEY:--"So I do."

DUFFY:--"That's a dear.--Brave pretty waistcoat on to you, than, Huey."

HUEY:--"Cost pretty money too."

DUFFY:--"What ded a cost than?"

HUEY:--"Two and twenty pence, buttons and all."

DUFFY:--"Take care of an than."

HUEY:--"So I will."

DUFFY:--"That's a dear."

Another prolonged silence.

HUEY continues:--"I'm thinkan we will get married next turfey season if

thee west (thou wilt.")

DUFFY:--"Why doesn't thee sit a little nearer than?"

HUEY:--"Near enough I bla (believe.")

DUFFY:--"Nearer the fire, I mean. Well, I'll be married to thee any day,

though thee art no beauty, to be sure."

Huey gets a little nearer.

DUFFY, putting her hand on his face, "Thy face is as rough as Morvah

Downs, that was ploughed and never harved (harrowed) they say; but I'll

have thee for all that and fill up with putty all the pock-mark pits and

seams; then paint them over and make thee as pretty as a new

wheelbarrow."

The squire is heard outside calling his dogs. Duffy starts up in a

fright, seizes a furze-prong, and says, "Master will be here in a

minute, jump into the huccarner (wood-corner) and I'll cover thee up

with the furze."

Huey hesitates.

DUFFY:--"Then crawl into the oven: a little more baking will make thee

no worse."

Huey gets into an oven, opening on to the fire-place and behind the

chimney-stool, just as the Squire enters and calls out,

"Jone, take up the pie, if its ready or raw. I'm as hungry as a hound."

DUFFY, rising to uncover a pie that was baking on the hearth, says,

"Master, I have staid up to give ye your supper, because An Jone es gone

to bed very bad with a cramp in her stomach and wind in her head, so she

said."

"Why I heard thee talking when I came to the door, who was here then?"

demanded the Squire.

"Only a great owl, master dear," she replied, "that fell down from the

ivy-bush growing over the chimney and perched hisself there on the

stool, with his great goggle eyes, and stood staring at me and blinkan

like a fool. Then he cried Hoo! hoo! Tu-wit, tu-woo; and, when you

opened the door, he flew up the chimney the same way he came down."

The Squire, satisfied with Duffy's explanation, advances, and puts his

foot on the hearth-stone, looks at his legs, saying, "Duffy, my dear,

these are the very best stockings I ever had in my life. I've been

hunting all day, over moors and downs, through furze and thorns, among

brambles and bogs, in the worst of weather, yet there isn't a scratch on

my legs and they are as dry as if bound up in leather."

The Devil (supposed to be invisible) rises behind Duffy and grimaces at

the Squire.

DUFFY:--"I may as well tell 'e master that I shan't knit much more for

'e, because Huey Lenine and I have been courtan for a long time. We are

thinkan to get married before winter, and then I shall have a man of my

own to work for."

SQUIRE:--"What! Huey Lenine! I'll break every bone in his carcase if he

shows his face near the place. Why the devil is in it that a young skit

like thee should have it in thy head to get married! Now I'll sit down a

minute and talk reason with thee."

[The Squire sits close beside Duffy. The Devil tickles them with his

tail. Huey is seen peeping from the oven.]

SQUIRE:--"Give up thy courting with Huey Lenine,

And I'll dress thee in silks and satins fine."

DUFFY:--"No I'll never have an old man, an old man like you,

Though you are Squire Lovell:

To my sweetheart I'll be constant and true,

Though he work all day with threshal and shovel."

The Devil tickles the Squire behind the ears. He sits nearer and places

his arm round her waist.

SQUIRE:--"Thou shalt have a silk gown all broider'd in gold,

Jewels and rings, with such other fine things

In the old oak chest, as thee did'st never behold."

DUFFY:--"My sweetheart is young, lively, and strong,

With cheeks like a red rose;

But your time will not be long:--

You have very few teeth, and a blue-topped nose.

So keep your silks and keep your gold,

I'll never have a man so feeble and old."

Here the Devil tickles them both. The Squire hugs and kisses Duffy, who

makes less and less resistance.

SQUIRE:--"You shan't find me feeble, though I'm near sixty;

I'm stronger still than many a man of twenty."

DUFFY:--"Your only son is now far away.

If he came home and found ye wed,

What think ye he would say?"

SQUIRE:--"I hope he is already dead,

Or'll be kill'd in the wars some day,

If alive he shan't enter my door,

I'll give thee my land, with all my store,

Thou shalt ride to church behind me upon a new pavillion,

Smarter than Dame Pendar or Madam Trezillian."

DUFFY:--"Dear master, hold your flattering tongue,

Nor think to deceive one so simple and young;

For I'm a poor maid, lowly born and bred;

With one so humble you could never wed.

Keep your distance, and none of your hugging;

You shall kiss me no more till you take me to church.

I'll never cry at Christmas for April fooling

Like a poor maid left in the lurch.

Look! the sand is all down and the pie burned black,

With the crust too hard for your colt's-teeth to crack:

So off to the hall and take your supper."

Duffy rises, takes up from the hearth a pie, which had been baking

there, goes out with it, followed by the Squire and Devil dancing. Huey

crawls from the oven, saying "Lack a day who can tell, now, what to make

of a she-thing?" By the time he gets on his legs Duffy returns, and,

assisted by the devil pushes him to doors, saying,

"Now betake thyself outside the door,

Nor show thy black face here any more;

Don't think I would wed a poor piljack like thee,

When I may have a Squire of high degree."

Duffy and the Devil dance till the Squire returns and joins in a

three-handed reel, without seeing the Old One, who capers back into a

dark corner at the pass of the dance, and comes close behind him at the

pitch. _Curtain drops.--Thunder and lightning._

The scene changes to Trove Mill, where a long gossip takes place over

the new "nine days' wonder" of Squire Lovell having wedded Duffy for the

sake of her knitting. Some say she will behave like most beggars put on

horseback, and all the women agreed that they would rather be a young

man's slave, and work their fingers to stumps, than be doomed to pass a

weary time beside such an old withered stock; they should wish him dead

and no help for it.

In the next, Duffy (now Madame Lovell) is beheld walking up and down her

garden, or hall, decked out in a gown with a long train, hanging ruffles

at her elbows, ruff of monstrous size round her neck, towering

head-dress, high-heeled shoes, with bright buckles, earrings, necklace,

fan, and all other accessories of old-fashioned finery. The bucca-boo is

seen grinning, half-hidden, in the corner; whilst Madam walks she

sings:--

"Now I have servants to come at my call,

As I walk in grand state through my hall,

Decked in silks and satins so fine:

But I grieve through the day,

And fret the long night away,

Thinking of my true-love, young Huey Lenine.

I weep through many a weary long hour,

As I sit all alone in my bower,

Where I do nothing but pine;

Whilst I grieve all the day,

And fret the long nights away,

In dreaming of my true-love, young Huey Lenine.

Would the devil but come at my call,

And take the old Squire--silks, satins, and all,

With jewels and rings so fine;

Then, merry and gay, I'd work through the day,

And cheerily pass the nights away,

Kissing my true-love, young Huey Lenine."

[Illustration]

[1] One-eyed Joan's Tale, _p._ 213.

DUFFY AND THE DEVIL.

_Part Second._

"Refinement, too, that smoothens all

O'er which it in the world hath pass'd,

Has been extended in its call,

And reach'd the devil, too, at last.

That Northern Phantom found no more can be,

Horns, tail, and claws, we now no longer see.

* * * * *

But with your like, when we the name can learn,

Your nature too we commonly discern."

GOETHE'S _Faust_.

_Filimore's Translation._

In a mill scene, after the Squire's marriage, there is a long dialogue,

in rhyme, on "the cruel miseries to be endured" by both husband and

wife, "when a young maid is wedded to an old man." This can not be given

because much of it would now be regarded as indelicate.

In another scene, the Squire's man Jack, and Huey Lenine, discuss the

same subject. This is also inadmissible for the same reason. We are

reluctant to dismember this old piece, even by so much as may be deemed

necessary by persons of fastidious taste, because students of ancient

manners would doubtless prefer an unpruned version.

We shall give the remainder of the story as it may be gathered from the

play, without dividing it into scenes. And indeed great part of it, for

want of convenience in acting, was often recited by Father Christmas, in

his character of Chorus. We also omit the mill scenes, as they afforded

a kind of by-play, that had little or nothing to do with the main story.

Whenever time was required for the principle personages to get ready, a

bevy of women were brought on to gossip about old times and the past

year's events, or they told stories, danced, or sung until their turn

came to "serge their flour," (bolt their meal.)

Duffy complaind to the kind old witch that she was very dissatisfied

with her aged spouse. The old crone advised her to have patience and

well feather her nest, that she might secure a youthful successor to

Squire Lovell, who was'nt likely to trouble her long. Notwithstanding

Madam's griefs, she kept the Bucca-boo to his work, so that all her

chests and presses were filled with stockings, blankets, yarn and

home-spun cloth; and her husband was clad, from top to toe, in

devil-made garments. Squire Lovell, as was his wont, being away hunting

every week-day, from dawn till dark, and the housekeeper and other

servants hearing a constant rumbling throughout the house like the noise

of a spinning-wheel, only varied by the clicking of cards, thought their

mistress busy at work, when she spent great part of her time at the

mill.

The stocking that Duffy made out to be knitting, but never finished, had

always a stitch down. By that old Betty suspected her of having strange

dealings as well as herself.

Though the time seemed long and wearisome to Madam, the term for which

the devil engaged to serve her drew near its end: yet she was ignorant

as ever of his true name, and gave herself but little concern on that

account, thinking it might be just as well to go with a devil, who was

so very obliging, as to remain with old Squire Lovell; for all the time

this Bucca-boo became, as it were, her slave, he was well-behaved and

never gave her the least reason to complain of his conduct.

Yet when she walked through Trove orchards, and saw the apple-trees

weighed down with ripe fruit, she had some misgivings, lest her next

abode might be less pleasant than Trove, besides, she thought that the

devil, like most men, might be very civil in courtship but behave

himself quite otherwise when he had her in his power.

Madam being much perplexed made her troubles known to Betty, the witch,

who, cunning woman as she was, had'nt found out the particulars of the

bargain. She was'nt much surprised, however, when Duffy told her,

because she knew that women and devils were capable of doing

extraordinary things. Betty was somewhat troubled, but not much; for in

old times, white-witches could perform almost incredible feats, by

having devils and other spirits under their command. So, after twirling

her thumbs a minute, and thinking what to do, she said, "Duffy, my dear,

cheer up! I would'nt like for 'e to be taken away before me. Now do what

I advise 'e, and it is much to me if we don't find 'e a way to fool this

young devil yet, he is but a green one. So, to-morrow evening, soon

after sunset, bring me down a black jack of your oldest and strongest

beer. But before that, be sure you get the Squire to go hare-hunting.

Fool him with the old story, or any thing else to make him go. Wait up

till he comes back, and note well what he may say. Go 'e home now: ask

me no questions; but mind and do what I have told 'e!"

Next morning, the Squire noticed that his wife ate no breakfast, and, at

dinner, observing that she seemed very sour and sad, and appeared to

loath everything on the board, he said,

"My dear wife, how is it that you have been so melancholy of late? What

is the matter with 'e? Don't I do as much to comfort 'e as any man can?

If there's anything to be had, for love or money, you shall have it. You

don't appear to have much appetite, honey; what would 'e like to eat?"

"I could just pick the head of a hare, if I had it," she replied; "I am

longing for hare-pie; but you have been so busy about the harvest that

we havn't had one for weeks, and I'm feeling so queer that have one I

must or the consequences will be awful to the babe unborn, and to you as

well."

"You know dear," said the Squire, "that harvest is late. We have still

much corn to get into the mowhay. Besides, it's full time that all

should be ready for cider-making. I would do my best to catch a hare if

that would please ye," he continued, over a bit; "but dont 'e think that

the old story about the child, that according to your fancy has been

coming to and again for the last three years, is ever going to fool me

to the neglect of corn and apples."

"Hard-hearted, unbelieving wretch," replied she, "you don't deserve to

be the father of my child. Know, to your shame, that innocent virgins,

when first wedded are often deceived with false hopes. Now would 'e have

our cheeld disfigured for the sake of such little good as you are among

the harvest people? An old man's bantling," she continued, "is mostly a

wisht and wizened-looking object! Would 'e like to see ours with a face

like a hare besides an ugly nose, and a mouth from ear to ear? Go, do,

like a dear, and stay my longing; but in the evening, after croust

(afternoon refreshment), will be time enow for 'e to start, that we may

have one for dinner to-morrow."

With coaxing, scolding, and hopes of paternal joys, she, at length

prevailed.

Soon after the Squire and his dogs were out of sight, Duffy drew about

a gallon of beer, that was many years old, into a strong leather jack,

made small at the mouth like a jar, for convenience in carrying, and

took it down to the mill. Betty, after trying the liquor, said it would

do, and told Duffy to go home, make the devil work till dark, wait up

for her husband, and keep her ears open to all he might say. When nearly

dark and a few stars glimmered, Betty turned the water from the

mill-wheel and closed the flushet. Then, having donned her

steeple-crowned hat and red cloak, she fastened the jack of beer to one

end of a "giss" (hempen girth), and her "crowd" to the other, slung them

across her shoulder, under her cloak, took a black-thorn stick, closed

her door, and away she went over the hill. She went up the "Bottom"

(glen) between Trove and Boleigh, till she passed the Fuggo Hole, and

there, amongst the thickets, she disappeared! All this Bottom was

well-wooded, and the upper part thickly covered with hazel, thorn, and

elder; and a tangled undergrowth of briars, brambles, and furze,

surrounded a wood called the Grambler Grove. Few persons liked to pass

near this place, because strange noises were heard, and fires often seen

within it by night, when no one would venture near the place.

Duffy waited up many hours after the servants had gone to bed, in great

impatience for her husband's return. Her fears and doubts increasing,

she remained seated in the kitchen chimney-corner, attending to a pie on

the hearth; that it might be kept hot for the Squire's supper. It came

into her head at times, as a kind of forlorn hope, that the crafty old

witch might somehow get the Devil to take her husband instead of

herself. About midnight, however, her uneasy musings were interrupted by

the dogs rushing in, followed by Squire Lovell, who seemed like one

distracted, by the way he capered about and talked in broken sentences,

of which his wife could make neither head nor tail. Sometimes he would

caper round the kitchen, singing snatches of a strange dancing-tune;

then stop, try to recollect the rest, and dance till tired out. At last

the Squire sat down and told his wife to bring him a flagon of cider.

After draining it, he became more tranquil, and, when Duffy asked if he

had caught a hare, he answered,

"I've seen queer sights to-night, and the damn'd hare--as fine a one as

ever was chased--most in the dogs' mouths all the while. We coursed her

for miles, yet they couldn't catch her at all." Then he burst out

singing,

"To-morrow, my fair lady,

You shall ride along with me,

Over land and over sea,

Through the air and far away!"

O! the funny devil! How he tossed up his heels and tail when he danced

and sang,

"'To strange countries you shall go,

For never here can you know.'

"I've forgotten the rest," said he, after a pause; "but give me supper,

and fill the tankard again. Then I will begin at the beginning, and tell

'e all about the strange things I've seen to-night. I wish you had been

there; it would have made ye laugh, though I havn't seen 'e so much as

smile for a long time. But give me supper, I tell thee again, and don't

stay gaping at me like a fool frightened! Then, and not before, I'll

tell thee all about our uncommon chase, and we will ride 'Over land, and

over sea, with the jolly devil, far away, far away!'"

Duffy placed a pie on the board and helped the Squire.

After supper he came more to himself, and said,

"We hunted all the way down, both sides of the Bottom, from Trove to

Lamorna without seeing a hare. It was then dark, but for the starlight:

we turned to come home, and, up by Bosava, out popped a hare, from a

brake of ferns close beside the water. She (the hare) took up the moors;

we followed close after, through bogs, furze, and brambles,

helter-skelter, amongst mire and water. For miles we chased her--the

finest hare that ever was seen, most in the dogs' mouths all the way,

yet they couldn't catch her at all. By the starlight we had her in sight

all the way till far up the Bottom, between Trove and Boleigh; there we

lost all sight and scent of her at last, but not till, tearing through

brakes of brambles and thorns, we found ourselves in the Grambler Grove.

And now," continued he, after a pull from the flagon, "I know for

certain that what old folks say is true--how witches meet the Devil

there of summer's nights. In winter they assemble in the Fuggo Hole, we

all know; because one may then often hear the devil piping for their

dance under our parlour floor--that's right over the inner end of the

Fuggo. And now I believe what we took for a hare was a witch that we

chased into this haunted wood. Looking through the thickets I spied, on

a bare spot, surrounded by old withered oaks, a glimmering flame rising

through clouds of smoke. The dogs skulked back and stood around me like

things scared. Getting nearer, and looking through an opening, I saw

scores of women--some old and ugly, others young and passable enow as

far as looks go. Most of them were busy gathering withered ferns or dry

sticks, to the fire. I noted, too, that other witches, if one might

judge by their dress, were constantly arriving--flying in over the

trees, some mounted on ragworts, brooms, ladles, furze-pikes, or

anything they could get astride of. Others came on through the smoke as

comfortable as you please, sitting on three-legged stools; and alighted

by the fire, with their black cats on their laps. Many came in through

the thickets like hares, made a spring through the flame, and came out

of it as decent lasses as one might see in Buryan Church of a holiday. A

good large bonfire soon blazed up; then, by its light, I saw, a little

way back sitting under a tree, who should 'e think? Why no less than old

witch Bet, of the Mill. And by her side a strapping dark-faced fellow,

that wasn't bad looking and that one wouldn't take to be a devil at all

but for the company he was with, and the sight of his forked tail that

just peeped out from under his coat-skirts. Every now and then Old Bet

held to his mouth a black leather jack, much like ours, and the Devil

seemed to like the liquor by the way he smacked his lips. Now said I to

myself I don't much dislike nor fear thee, devil or no, as thee art so

honest as to drink hearty. So here's to thee, wife!"

Duffy was very impatient, but took care not to interrupt the Squire.

After draining the flagon, he continued to say,

"Faix, I should think the Devil got drunk at last by the way he capered

when the witches, locked hand-in-hand, danced round the fire with him in

their midst. They went round and round so fast one couldn't follow their

movements as Betty beat up on her crowd the old tune of

'Here's to the Devil, with his wooden spade and shovel,

Digging tin by the bushel, with his tail cocked up.'"

"Over a while Old Bet stopped playing; the Devil went up to her, drained

the jack, took from her the crowd, and sang a dancing-tune I never heard

before. The words, if I remember right were,

'I have knit and spun for her

Three years to the day,

To-morrow she shall ride with me,

Over land and over sea,

Far away! Far away!

For she can never know

That my name is Tarraway!'"

"The witches then sung as a chorus,

'By night and by day

We will dance and play,

With our noble captain--

Tarraway! Tarraway!'"

"I thought the words odd for a dancing-tune, but devils and witches do

queer things."

"The witches, locked hand-in-hand, danced madder and faster, pulled

each other right through the fire, and they wern't so much as singed,

the bitches. They spun round and round so fast that at last, especially

when the Devil joined in, my head got light. I wanted to dance with them

and called out as I advanced, 'Hurra! my merry Devil, and witches all!'

In an instant, quick as lightning, the music stopped, out went the fire,

a blast of wind swept away umers (embers) and ashes, a cloud of dust and

fire came in my eyes and nearly blinded me. When I again looked up they

had all vanished. By good luck I found my way out of the wood and home.

I'll have another hunt to-morrow and hope for better luck."

The Squire drank another flagon of ale; then, weighed down with fatigue

and drink, he rolled from his seat on to the floor. Duffy covered him

up. He often passed his nights thus, when too drunk to go over stairs.

As she threw over him a rug, and kicked a pile of rushes from the floor,

in under his head, he murmured, "To-morrow, we will ride over land and

over sea, through the air and faraway!"

It was hours after sunrise when Squire Lovell awoke and found his wife

sitting near him; but she didn't say a word about his going a-hunting;

in fact she would rather not be left in the house alone, or with

servants only. Late in the afternoon, however, he whistled to his dogs

and away he went a hunting again. As he had a mind to see, by daylight,

the ground he coursed over, and where the witches danced, he took his

way towards the Grambler Wood. Now Duffy hadn't been upstairs for all

that day, but, a little after sunset, she went up to the guest-chamber,

as a large spare bed-room was called, to fetch something she much

wanted. She took the garment from a hanging-press, and hastened to leave

the chamber, but, when she passed round the bed she beheld the

bucca-boo, standing before her, in the doorway. She never saw him

looking so well, nor so sprucely dressed, before. From beneath a

broad-brimmed hat and plume his coal-black hair fell in glossy curls on

his shoulders. He wore a buff coat of fine leather, with skirts so long

and full that they quite concealed his forked tail, or he might have

coiled it round his waist for what we know, any how there wasn't so much

as the tip of it to be seen.

Madam surveyed him, over and over again, from the golden spurs on his

bright black riding-boots to the nodding plume on his high pointed hat,

and thought she had never seen a more likely-looking fellow. Yet she was

speechless from fear or surprise. The devil, advancing with stately

step, doffed his hat, and bowing, said in courteous tones,

"Know, fair lady, the time is passed and some hours over that I engaged

myself to work for ye, and I hope that you have no reluctance to fulfil

your part of our agreement."

"Indeed no," said she, "I can't say I have much objection as you are a

very well-behaved obliging devil, and, during the three years that I

have had the pleasure of your acquaintance, you have given me no reason

to complain of your conduct. Yet," continued she, after a moment's

pause, "I'd like to know where you live when at home, and what sort of a

country it is? I fear it may be rather hot, as you seem to be burnt very

dark!"

"As to where my country is," replied he, "You wouldn't be much the

wiser if I told 'e all about it, because you have hitherto seen so

little of the world, and there would be great difficulty in making 'e

understand. As a proof, however, that my country's climate isn't much to

be complained of, you see me strong and healthy enow; besides, I'm not

so dark-skinned under my clothes; and, if you were burned as black as

myself, I would love ye all the same."

"I can't quite make up my mind," said she, "though no doubt you would

please me as well, and make a better husband than Squire Lovell, who, if

he isn't drunk, snores all night with his face to the wall. If I went

how would 'e convey me to your far country?"

"I have brought to the Grambler Grove a noble steed," he replied, "that

will go over land and sea, or fly through the air with lightning speed.

Now do make haste, dear, and get ye ready for my horse is very impatient

to be left alone; he may whistle for me and shake down the chimney-tops,

or paw the ground and make all the country tremble; yet he is as gentle

as a lamb when mounted. So come along as you are; there's no time for

delay," said he, offering his hand.

"If you please," said madam, shrinking back, "I would like to stay in

Trove a little longer."

"Now, no nonsense," said the devil, in an angry tone; "You know that I

have been true to my word, as every gentleman ought, and trust you will

abide by our bargain: and as for your knowing my name," added he, with a

haughty air, "that's impossible, because it is long since that I, like

other persons of quality, have only been known by my title, and even

that is not familiar to vulgar ears." Assuming his ordinary courteous

manner, he said, "Yet, my love, for mere form's sake I'll ask 'e three

times if ye like! Besides, I'm curious to know what sort of a guess you

will make at it. So now, for the first time asking, tell me if you can,

what is my name?"

"My dear Mr. Devil," said she, "don't 'e take offence if I happen to

misname ye in my ignorance. Now arn't 'e my lord Beelzebub!"

"No! be d----," replied he, choaking with anger, "how could ye even

think me such a mean, upstart devil as Beelzebub, whose name isn't known

in the place where I belong; and, even here, among those best acquainted

with him, nobody ever heard of his grandfather! Now I hear my horse

shaking his bridle and, for the second time, I ask ye my name?"

"Pray excuse my ignorance and don't 'e be vexed," said she, "for I don't

doubt but you are a grand gentleman when at home and no other, I think,

than Prince Lucifer!"

"What? Lucifer!" he exclaimed, more than ever enraged; "you make me mad

but to think that I should ever be taken for one of such a mean tribe as

Lucifer, who is no better than the other. As for me, I wouldn't be seen

in their company. None of their family were ever known or heard of in

this country till lately. Great indeed is your want of sense," continued

he, with a scornful air, "to take me for one of these upstarts. Yet,

forsooth, many fools--if one may judge by their fears--seem to reverence

them; nay almost to worship them. But crafty folks, who profit by fools'

fears, havn't a good word to say of these new buccas behind their backs,

nor yet of their country; for that, they say, is full of burning

brimstone, and one may well believe it, for when any of the tribe come

here they stink of sulphur. But one like you--born and bred in Buryan

Church-town--can't have any notion of the antiquity and dignity of my

family! If you hadn't been the loveliest of Buryan ladies I would never

have condescended to spin for 'e. And now, for the third and last time,

I ask what is my name?" On the same breath he added, "come! Give me your

hand love, and let's away, for you can never guess it."

Duffy didn't feel much reluctance to go with him, yet was proud to

outwit the devil and answered,

"Don't 'e be in such a hurry, old gentleman, Buryan people mayn't be so

ignorant as you think them; they live near enow to St. Levan witches to

know something of devils and their dealings. YOU ARE TARRAWAY--you won't

deny it!"

"No, by my tail," said he, almost speechless with surprise; "I am too

proud of my ancient name to disown it. I'm fairly beaten; it's provoking

though to be outwitted by a young thing like you, and I can't think

however you found it out. But true as I'm a gentleman, if you don't go

with me now, the time will come when you'll wish you had, and one day

you shall spin for me yet."

Duffy shrunk back, and, in a moment, thick smoke gathered around

Tarraway; the room became dark; and he disappeared amidst a blaze of

lightning and a rattling peal of thunder, that shook the house from end

to end.

Duffy, much frightened, ran down stairs, and, as she entered the hall,

in tore old Jone, terrified out of her wits by the kitchen chimney-top

rattling down on the hearth where pots, kettles, and pans were all

smashed. Their dread was much increased by finding throughout the house

a smother of burning wool. Other women servants ran shrieking into the

hall. Old Jone said she felt a fit coming on; whilst she looked about

for a place to fall down and have her fit comfortable; into their midst

rushed the Squire, with nothing on but his hat, shirt, and shoes. At

this sight all the women have fits; the Squire stands for some time,

looking on, like one distraught, till the women come to; all rise and

run out except his wife; she asked him how he came home in such a

plight, and where he had left his clothes. The Squire told her that when

he came to the Grambler he had a fancy to see by daylight the place

where Old Nick and his witches had their dance the preceding night. He

entered and searched all round--over bare places, between the trees, and

elsewhere, but saw no signs of any fire having been made in the wood;

there wasn't even a handful of ashes, or the grass so much as burnt on

the spot where he was sure he saw a bonfire blazing the night before.

He turned to leave this haunted place, by taking his course down the

Bottom, but, when he was just out of the wood, a blinding flash of

lightning surrounded him like a sheet of flame, whilst he was stunned by

louder thunder than he ever heard before. When he recovered his senses

and opened his eyes he found that all his home-spun woollen garments

were burned from his breech and his back, leaving him as he then stood.

He believed it was all done by witchcraft, because he saw their devilish

doings. He told his wife to fetch him a coat, stockings, and breeches.

Duffy, disliking to go upstairs alone, called Jone to accompany her, and

great was her terror to find that every article of Tarraway's work had

disappeared from chests and presses--nothing was left in them but Squire

Lovell's old moth-eaten garments covered with dust and ashes. He was

very dissatisfied with his old clothes, but there was no help for it.

As clever a conjuror, or pellar, as any in the west country was fetched.

He declared that it was all exactly as Squire Lovell thought--the devil

and witches had served him out because he wanted to pry into their

doings, and had chased one of them in the form of a hare. The wise man

nailed old horse-shoes over the doors, and promised, for little pay in

proportion to his services, that he would take Trove and the Squire's

household under his protection, so that they need fear no more mischief

from witchcraft, nor bad luck.

Madam, by the witch's aid, had a happy riddance of Tarraway, yet greater

troubles were in store for her. Squire Lovell, disliking to be seen

again wearing his old stockings, would neither go to church nor to

market, and instead of hunting, as was his wont, from dawn till dark, he

stayed indoors all day, in a very surly mood, to keep his wife at her

spinning; and she knew no more how to spin than when she summoned the

bucca-boo to work for her.

The Squire having forbade Betty the witch to come near his house, Duffy

had little chance to see her; but one Thursday evening when he was off

guard--up to the blacksmith's shop in Boleigh, to hear the news from

returning market-people, as was his custom--Duffy hastened off to Mill

and made known her troubles, and the next market-day Betty went to

Penzance and bought the best stockings she could get. On Sunday morning

Duffy brought them to her husband and passed them off as her own work;

but he wasn't at all satisfied, because they wern't so fine and soft as

what he had been accustomed to for three years. He wouldn't go to church

in them; he went a-hunting, however, and returned very cross, for his

new stockings didn't protect his legs from brambles, furze and wet, like

Tarraway's. He again staid indoors to keep his wife to spin, and Madam

was obliged to twirl her wheel all day though she only spoiled the wool,

for unless he heard the sound of turn or cards, he would be up to the

wool-chamber door calling out, "art thee asleep Duffy, lazy slut that

thee art, I havn't heard cards nor turn for an hour or more, and unless

thou very soon makest me better stockings than the rags on my legs, and

a good breeches too, I'll know the reason why, that I will, you lazy

faggot you, what the devil else did I marry thee for I'd like to know."

She would threaten to card his face if he entered, so they led a cat and

dog life for months, that seemed years to Duffy, shut up as she was in a

dusty wool-loft and not a soul to comfort her or to share her griefs.

Her spirits sunk and her beauty faded fast, she thought it had been

better by far to have gone with the devil, than lead such an irksome

life with old Squire Lovell. Often she prayed Tarraway to come for her,

but he turned a deaf ear to her cry, and was never more seen in Trove.

By good luck, when winter and muddy roads came, the Squire took it into

his head one Sunday morning to don his jack-boots and jog off to church,

that he might learn what was going on in the rest of the world.

It was the Sunday before Christmas. He wished his wife to mount behind

him, but she, pretending illness, begged to be excused and said she

would be glad to accompany him next time.

Madam watched her good man spurring his Dobbin till he was clear of

Trove town-place, then down she ran to Mill and told old Betty that

unless she got a speedy release from her irksome task she would drown

herself in the mill-pool.

Bet sat a moment on the mill-bed, twirling her thumbs so quick that one

could hardly see them spinning round each other, and said, "No, my dear

cheeld, dont 'e think of such a thing yet, young and handsome as you are

it would be a pity, let's try a scheme that I've thought of, a woman

never should despair of finding a trick to fool an old man, and if need

be the old witch will stir her stumps and trot again to help 'e, if one

plan don't serve we'll try another, for as the old saying is 'nobody

ever got out of a ditch by grunting,' what's just popped into my head

may answer!" "Do tell me what it is," said Madam. "No, there's no time

now," Betty replied. "You have wasted so much already in bemoaning your

griefs instead of thinking how to get rid of them, like a sensible body

ought, that old master will soon be back from church, and he musn't know

that you have been here, so only mind now what I am going to tell 'e."

"Next Saturday, being Christmas-Day, the Squire will no doubt go to

church and desire you to go with him; by all means go, and when, as

usual after churching, you stop at the cross to exchange greetings with

other gentry, I'll come near enow for 'e to hail me with 'A Merry

Christmas to 'e An Betty, and a Happy New Year when a do come.' I shall

wish 'e the same, and you invite me, before the Squire, to come up in

the evening to taste your Christmas beer. And in the afternoon when,

according to custom, there will be a hurling match from Church-town to

Boleigh, the Squire and you, with scores of gentlefolks, on horseback

and afoot, will be near the goal to see the ball brought fairly in, and

to hinder fighting; then look 'e out for me, give your kindest greetings

again, and don't 'e be surprised at anything you may hear and see, or if

you be don't 'e show it, and invite me again to partake of your

Christmas cheer. That's all I have to tell 'e now," said she, opening

her door for Duffy to depart, but going a few steps on the Green she

continued, "It don't cost 'e any pain, no not a bit, to speak kindly to

a poor body now any more than before you became Madam Lovell, and as

good a lady as the best in Buryan, for you are no ways vain; but if you

had ever shown any scornful pride be assured I would never have gone a

trotting for 'e, nor do what I intend, to get 'e relieved of your

troubles: besides it isn't your fault that you can neither knit nor

spin, you never had a kind mammy to teach 'e. And no one can blame ye

for deceiving old Squire Lovell--lying and deceit come to us poor women

by nature--so hasten home, leave the rest to me, and hope for better

times."

Madam got home just in time to see that dinner was ready, when her

husband returned in a good temper after his morning's ride.

"Duffy, my dear," said he, as she assisted him to pull off his boots,

"I wish you had gone to church, everybody was enquiring for 'e, and

asking what was become of us this long time that they hadn't seen sight

nor sign of us. And some of the women--cuss their itching curiosity they

can never be satisfied--wanted to roll down my boot-tops and undo my

knee-buckles that they might have a peep at my stockings. But on

Christmas-Day come ye along with me, they won't be so foarthing if you

be there."

Duffy replied, "my darling man, I'll go with all my heart and see if

they carry their impudence so far again, and now dear, make a hearty

dinner, and tell me all the news you have heard."

Christmas-Day in the morning, Duffy, as richly attired as any lady in

Buryan, mounted on a pillion behind her husband, and away they went to

church. After service, a great number assembled at the Cross and sung

old charols. Squire and Madam Lovell exchanged many kindly compliments

with the Cardews, Harveys, Noys, Penders, Vivians, Gwennaps, and other

ancient gentry of Buryan, who were waiting for their steeds.

Whilst wishing her neighbours a Merry Christmas Madam Lovell had kept a

sharp look out for old Betty; but had nearly given up all hopes of

seeing her, and was about to mount behind the Squire, when glancing

around for the last time she spied her steeple-crown and red mantle

among the crowd of singers, through whom she had great trouble to lead

her fat and lazy Dobbin to the heaving-stock. Madam went to meet her,

shook hands heartily and said, "good morrow to 'e Dame Chymellan, how

are 'e an; I am glad to see ye looking so well and wish 'e a Merry

Christmas and a Happy New Year, and many of them. I hope you liked the

sermon and the singing, and so on;"--we can't tell all the fine

compliments that passed so long ago.

"Thank your honour, and I wish 'e the same," the old dame replied,

making a low curtsey to Duffy. Then turning round to other gentlefolks,

she continued to wish all their honours--as she styled them--the

compliments of the tide, calling each by name as she curtsied to every

one.

Now there was nothing remarkable in An Betty's civil words; but as she

stood close beside the Squire, who was on horseback, and bestowed her

old-fashioned greetings at every curtsey, an unseemly noise was heard.

Squire Lovell got vex't, the ladies looked confused, glanced at him and

rode off.

Betty, however, without appearing to hear or to heed anything, mounted

the heaving-stock, settled herself comfortably on her high-peaked

bow-pad, and jogged away with Dame Pendar; Squire Lovell and others

going the same road. At parting Duffy said to her, "now be sure An Betty

you come up early to try our Christmas-cake and ale." "Thank your

honours I will," replied she, in turning off to the Mill.

It was customary for the Squire's tenants, and all who choose, to

assemble at his house every night from Christmas-Eve till twelfth-night,

to freely partake of his abundant cheer and help in the merry disports

of the tide; yet he wasn't at all pleased because his wife invited the

old dame. "I should'nt have minded her coming at any other time," said

he, "but to-day a good many from the hurling will come home with us and

pass the evening; I hope however, she will be on her best behaviour

before the quality: to be sure one don't like to offend the spiteful old

witch for fear of her tricks."

In the afternoon Squire Lovell and his wife, with many others--mostly on

horseback--were got together near Daunce-Mayn when old Betty stalked in

to their midst, and just such another scene was acted there as took

place in Church-town.

Many who came from a distance went down to Trove to pass a merry

Christmas night.

A score or more of ladies and gentlemen, seated in the hall, pledged

each other in hot-spiced-ale, brandy, punch, and wine, when Betty, Jone

and others entered, holding aloft their horns of foaming liquor. The

Squire fearing another display of Betty's unbecoming behaviour, rose in

haste to prevent her drinking their healths with all the honours. "Stay

a moment An Betty," said he, "come into the kitchen, I must tell 'e that

twice already to-day you have made me ashamed of 'e, how could 'e do so

and show so little respect for the company both in Church-town and

Boleigh?"

"O dear master, you musn't mind such a trifle as that," replied she,

without budging an inch, "for it will soon be all the same with madam

there, your honour's wife, if you keep her to spin so much, she won't be

able to help it for her life. You may look scared and misbelieving, but

indeed she won't; no! no more than I can whenever I move quick, or

curtsey to your honours as I am, in duty, bound to do; and if your

honours would like to hear how it happened to me I'll tell 'e."

Many of the company having intimated that they would like to hear how

she became in such a condition, Squire Lovell placed her in a settle

near the hearth, she emptied her horn and gave the following relation:--

"Know then, your honours, that in my first husband's time,--more than

thirty years ago,--we lived at Trevider. I did out-door work and helped

old mistress besides, when there was extra house work, such as great

brewings, cheese-making, the baking and roasting at feasten-tides,

spinning for the weavers, besides the regular spinning of winter's

nights, and such like. Though I say it, there wasn't a brisker lass in

Buryan than I was then; just like mistress there, your honour's wife.

There was no woman and but few men that could beat me in shaking liners

(threshed wheaten sheaves), leading trusses, branding turves, raking

tabs (roots, grass, &c.), reaping, rulling, aye, or binding either on a

push; and I could make an arish mow as well as any man. Old master used

to say that at the windan-sheet (winnowing-sheet), there wasn't my equal

in the parish for handling the sieve and kayer (coarse sieve), and that

I made a better sample of corn, and not half so much after-winding and

waste, as any other windster he ever met with; but I needn't blow my

trumpet any more on that score. My old mistress, Madam Pendar, was a

noted spinster, as you may have heard, and of winter's-nights she, with

her servant maidens and I, took our places at the turns (spinning

wheels); master and the servant men carded and sung three-men's songs or

told old drolls the while. My spinning-work was soon equal to Madam

Pendar's though she would never allow it; but my yarn was strong, even,

and fine, just like your honour's wife's," said Bet, addressing Squire

Lovell to fasten his attention. "And often I was kept spinning all day

for days running, just like mistress there. But one Christmas night

every body belonging to Trevider, young and old, went off in a

Guise-dance, except old mistress and I. 'Now they are all gone, Betty,'

said she, 'and left us all alone, see if we don't enjoy ourselves.'

Mistress drew a good joram (jug) of strong old ale, boiled, sweetened,

and spiced it whilst I roasted the apples; we brewed a drink fit for a

king; for hours we pledged each other's good health and drank to our

heart's content. Over a while mistress began to brag of her spinning,

she was proud of her work and so was I of mine, just like your honour's

wife. I shall ever remember that Christmas-night and how cherry the old

hall looked with the Christmas-log burning bright, and faggots of oak

and ash blazing up the chimney, showed every window, dresser and wall

decked in holly, box, and ivey; with branches of bays and rosemary

around the pewter flaggons, plates, and platters, that shone like silver

among the Christmas greenery.

Old mistress boasted much of her spinning, and wager'd a bottle of

brandy--which she placed on the board--that she would spin a pound of

wool in a shorter time, and make a finer yarn than I could. I took her

to her word, rolled up the rushes from the floor, to make a clear run

all the length of the hall, and placed our turns, while mistress weighed

and carded the wool, divided the rulls, and gave me my choice of them.

When all was ready, to cheer our hearts and put life in our heels, we

each drank a noggin of brandy. Then I tripped backward and forward as

light as a feather, and for more than three hours we twirled our wheels

by the bright fire-light, keeping good time together. My yarn was suant

(even) and fine as a flaxen thread; just like that spun by my lady

there, your honour's wife, and I was then about her age. I had nearly

spun my pound of wool, and never felt in better heart for dancing to the

turn, when, as bad luck would have it, my twadling-string--weakened with

so much stepping backwards--burst. I fell to the ground, and ever since

I've been in the sad predicament that so surprised your honours. Though

it's comforting to have companions in affliction," said she, after a

pull at the flaggon, "yet from the regard I have for your honour and

mistress there, I have spoke of my ailment to warn 'e that as sure as I

sit here with a broken twadling-string it will soon be the same with my

lady there, if it's true, what I do hear, that you keep her to spin from

morn till night most every day of the year. When that do happen you will

be frighten'd into fits; old mistress was so scared that she nearly lost

her senses, she thought the house falling about her ears, to save

herself she snatched the bottle and tore up stairs; next day she was

found asleep under a bed with the empty bottle close by her head."

Old Betty's story rather surprised the company, and Squire Lovell, much

concerned, said "I'm glad you told me An Betty, now drink another horn

full like a dear; I wouldn't for the world that my darling Duffy should

be in such a plight, nevermore shall she spin from this very night. I

would go bare leg'd all my life, rather than such a mishap should befall

my wife."

The entertainment concludes with a dance, to music made by Father

Christmas on a crowd.

[Illustration]

CELTIC MONUMENTS OF BOLEIGH AND ROSEMODRASS.

Dear land of old romance,

Legend and mystic dance;

Lost towns and temples, and that buried shore

Where thy great hero fought his last sad fight,

Cromlechs and quoits and cairns and hills of war,

Circles of mystery and mounds of might.

W. K. D.

About a furlong south-west of Trove, but on a tenement of Boleigh, is

the Fuggo. It consists of a cave about six feet high, five feet wide,

and near forty long, faced on each side with rough stones, across which

long stone posts are laid. On its north-west side a narrow passage leads

into another cave of similar construction and unknown extent; as it has

long been blocked up by a portion of the roof having fallen in. One may

be pretty sure, however, that much of the stories about its great length

are fabulous. They say that it extends from its entrance, at the foot of

Boleigh hill, to the old mansion at Trove; in proof of this the old one

has often been heard piping under a parlour of the house. It is supposed

he meets the witches down there, who have entered by the Fuggo to dance

to his music. Hares are often seen to enter the Fuggo which are never

known to come out the same way; they are said to be witches going to

meet their master, who provides them with some other shape to return in.

There are also traditions of this cavern having served as a place of

refuge to some of the Levelis in troublesome times; and of its having

frequently been used by our fair-traders, as it afforded them a secure

hold for storing their goods, and to have a carouse therein.

Old traditions about the far-reaching and unknown extent of the Fuggo,

may not, however, be altogether void of foundation. At the annual

excursion of the Royal Institution of Cornwall, in 1871, Mr. H. M.

Whitley, of Truro, remarked that the bank, just opposite the branch

cavern, sounded hollow, from which he is persuaded that there is a

chamber underneath to be yet explored.

There are the remains of a triple entrenchment near, and this

subterranean passage might have been connected with it.

Old folks of the neighbourhood say that there was another Fuggo in Trove

Hill, on the opposite side of the Glen, but the entrance has long since

been closed, and no one knows exactly where it opened.

The track of moor and croft between Trove and Boleigh has indeed never

been thoroughly examined by our antiquaries; yet as the vestiges of

ancient British habitations are generally found in the vicinity of

prehistoric monuments, the Daunce-mayn, Menheres, and holed-stones on

the hill, would seem to indicate that this sheltered glen might be a

likely place in which to find the remains of old crellas or circular

huts, similar to those of Bodennar, Busullow, and Chysauster. And

farther up, near the brook, amidst brambles and furze may yet be

discovered traces of ancient Celtic dwellings, with ashes still on the

hearth and quern and muller beside it.

* * * * *

A short time ago an old inhabitant of Boleigh informed us that many

persons in that neighbourhood are afraid to enter the Fuggo, even by

day, as they believe that bad spirits still frequent this place. Women

of villages near often threaten their crying babies that they will carry

them down to the Fuggo, and leave them there for the Bucca-boo if they

don't stop their squalling. There are traditions that almost all these

caves were haunted by beings of a fearful nature, whose path it was

dangerous to cross.

The fuggo at Bodinnar, called the Giant's Holt, was a few years ago much

dreaded, as it was thought to be the abode of ugly spriggans that kept

watch and guard over treasures which still remain buried in that ancient

hiding-place.

There is a somewhat graceful creation of fancy associated with the Vow,

or fuggo, at Pendeen, which is said to extend from the mansion to

Pendeen Cove, and some say it has branches in other directions, which

spread far away from the principal cavern.

At dawn on Christmas Day the "Spirit of the Vow" has frequently been

seen just within the entrance, near the Cove, in the form of a beautiful

lady, dressed in white, with a red rose in her mouth. There were persons

living, a few years since, who had seen this fair but not the less

fearful vision; for disaster was sure to visit those who intruded on the

spirit's morning airings.

Many of the "sawns" in the western cleaves have also similar legends

connected with them, only the dwellers in sea-side caverns, are either

of the mermaid race, or what we call Hoopers. The latter are beneficent

spirits who warn fishermen from going to sea when there is an

approaching tempest.

The Hoopers shroud themselves in a thick fog which stretches across

coves frequented by them. There are well remembered stories of Sennen

Cove Hooper that used to rest in a cloud of mist, on Cowloe, and thence

emit its doleful notes as a danger signal.

BOLEIGH OR BOLEIT.

Although we never heard of any Household Stories connected with this

interesting spot, yet we cannot pass it without some notice of its

prehistoric remains.

Our antiquaries follow the fashion of spelling the name of the hamlet on

the hill as above, yet everyone here who ought best to know the name of

the place in which they live, call it Bolé. Most likely it has been thus

pronounced from long before it was ever written. All sorts of

contradictory meanings have been given for the name of this noted place;

as the dairy-house, place of slaughter, &c. It was once the residence of

an old Norman family, whose name, spelt Bolleit, may be seen on a long

coffin-shaped slab, which lay on the floor within the tower of Buryan

Church a short time ago. The inscription in old Norman-French which

borders the edge of this curious tomb says that

[+] CLARICE: LA: FEMME: CHEFFRIE: DE: BOLLEIT: GIT: ICI: DEV: DE: LALME:

EIT: MERCE: KE: PVR: LEALME: PVNT (PRIUNT:) DI: IOR: DE: PARDVN:

AVERVND.

This means, in plain English, to say [+] "Clarice, the wife of Geoffry

de Bolleit, lies here: God on her soul have mercy: Who prays for her

soul shall have ten days' pardon."[2] Now the "Bo" we know to be another

form of Beau, in ancient French names. Leit may be a variation of lieu.

The provincial pronunciation of Beaulieu is, in many parts of Northern

France, simply Bolè. And this is the nearest approach to the proper

sound of the name that a Cornish man would be likely to turn his tongue

to form. This old Norman family, as in many other instances, might have

done their best to give to their new inheritance a name which was a

common one in their former home. This conjecture respecting the

derivation is at least as probable as the others. We know of no Cornish

name which terminated in leit, yet, if the name be Cornish, it is safer

to take the traditional pronunciation of those who live in Buryan than

to go by any mode of spelling.

MENHERES.

The most striking objects seen after passing through the hamlet are two

large long stones or pillars of granite, sometimes called the pipers,

but formerly known as the hurlers, which stand in the fields on the

north side of the road. Antiquaries are far from being unanimous in

their conjectures as to the purpose intended to be served in the

erection of these remarkable stones. Whether they were astronomical,

sacerdotal, or sepulchral monuments--whether erected for all or neither

of these objects--the learned think it premature to decide. There is no

mark on these mysterious stones to throw any light on the subject. Yet

it is pretty certain that all the large menhere stood in pairs; that

their bearing is generally east and west; that they are mostly found on

an open plain near other Celtic monuments, and the vestiges of ancient

British habitations; and we may be sure they were formerly more numerous

and regarded as objects of great importance, from the number of

dwelling-places, enclosures, and names of old Cornish families

terminating in Menhere, as Tremenhere, or Tremener, (Longstone place)

Polmener, (Longstone pool) Goonmenhere, (Longstone downs) and many

others. Probably many of the companion stones of the erect single

pillars may be still found lying along in some hedge, at no great

distance, (about the twelfth of the circle north of east or south of

west), from those which remain where placed thousands of years ago.

If the menhere (as has been conjectured from being found in pairs,

bearing nearly east and west) were intended to mark the times of the

equinox or solstice, these seasons being sacred festivals of Baal or the

Sun, the desire of the early Christians to obliterate all remembrances

of Pagan rites may account for the prostration or destruction of such

objects as must have been regarded with religious veneration, from their

importance to show the times to sow the grain, and do various kinds of

work pertaining to pastoral life; and, above all, to denote the sacred

festivals of our forefathers, which we still commemorate in our

Midsummer bonfires. These long stones at Boleigh are the more

interesting because there are not many of the original pairs to be found

standing in the west. There is another pair near Newbridge, and one may

be seen lying prostrate in Escols lane, Sennen, at a short distance from

the stile on the pathway to Escols village.

There is a tradition that this menhere was taken down from where it

stood, in the middle of the field, by a giant, who lived in Escols, by

him rolled into the hedge, and his son, ten years of age, placed the

trigg (propping stone) as we may still see it. An old lady of Escols

informed me that the other stone of the pair was in a hedge at no great

distance, prostrate also. The erection of these huge monoliths proves

that the animal powers and mechanical skill of our ancestors were of no

mean order.

HOLED STONES, &c.

Continuing on the road towards Boskenna, a minute's walk from the

Menheres brings us to a holed stone standing in the hedge on the right

hand side. This stone has been removed a considerable distance from its

original site to form the side of a gateway. The upper portion of the

stone is very much broken, and is irregular in shape, yet its head

appears to have been triangular and worked to an angle similar to the

Men-an-tol at Lanyon.

In the lane near the holed stone is an ancient cross, seemingly placed

in the midst of the Druidic monuments to sanctify what the old Celts

would not permit the Christian teachers to remove.

There is another holed stone near by, in Rosemodrass lane, placed head

downwards, and it serves for the hanging-post of a gate. The form of the

head of this stone cannot be easily ascertained, as it is buried so

deeply in the ground that only a small portion of the hole is to be

seen.

The aperture in both these stones (about six inches in diameter) is too

small to pop the smallest, or all but the smallest, baby through; yet

the people call them crick stones, and maintain that they were so-called

before they were born. Crick stones were used for dragging people

through, to cure them of various diseases. As these holed stones at

Boleigh have been removed from their original site no satisfactory

conclusion can be arrived at as to their primitive use. Some have

thought that these stones, in common with the men-an-tol at Lanyon, the

tolmen in Constantine, and many others, might have served the same

important purpose as the menheres--to fix the proper time for the

celebration of the autumnal equinox, by the stones being so placed that

the sacred index of the seasons on rising above the horizon would be

seen through the perforation, at a right angle to the face of the stone,

and that the triangular head of the stone formed such an angle that when

the sun was on the meridian, (at certain periods of the year, which were

required to be known,) its altitude would denote the time, by its place

in the heavens being in a line with the slope of the primitive

time-piece, which would then cast no shadow on the ground at mid-day. If

these monuments were intended for stone calendars, and any can be found

in their original position, it might be possible, at least

approximately, to fix the time of their erection, by their present

variation from true east and west. If the deviation is in the direction

demanded by the precession of the equinoxial points, the difference

might be calculated at the allowed rate of fifty seconds a year. There

is but little doubt but the men-an-tol still remains where it was first

erected.

As urns, or crocks of ashes and charred bones, have frequently been

found near these, and other mystic stones, which were generally regarded

as Celtic relics, it has been conjectured that long stones,

holed-stones, and quoits (cromlechs) were all raised to mark the last

resting-places of some noted personages. Is it not as probable that they

were erected for the use of the living, and, by being associated with

the religious observances of the time and people, came to be regarded as

garrac-zans or holy stones; and that the priest, or chief, would desire

to be buried near them, prompted by a feeling identical with that of the

present time and common to all ages, which makes many desire that their

poor dust and ashes may rest near the shrine at which they worshipped,

within the bounds of what they regard as holy ground? Sacerdotal

communities have always been ready to grant this distinction to the

rich, and encouraged this enshrining of the relics of mortality, because

the presence of the King of Terrors in the temple augments that

mysterious awe with which all ancient theocratical hierarches

endeavoured to invest themselves, and all their ghostly appurtenances;

as by this means they acquire more power over those who live in dread of

the spirit world, easily conjured up by morbid fancies, when surrounded

by whatever engenders melancholy.

Besides the tolmen noticed above there are several others in the

western part of Cornwall. Some thirty years ago, two holed stones, about

the size of those at Boleigh, might be seen in Treen Cliff, at no great

distance from the end of Pedny vounder lane, on the sea side of the

wheel-road to Castle Treen and the Logan Rock. These stones were amidst

other rocks. One was standing upright and the other lying flat on the

ground a few feet from it. The old people of Treen did not know what

these stones were placed there for.

In a field on the southern side of the lane is the circle of upright

stones called by the people of Buryan, Daunce-Mayn. The name is most

probably a corruption of Zans Mëyn (sacred stones,) and has nothing

whatever to do with dancing maids. The legend that the (originally)

nineteen posts were damsels, thus fixed for dancing on Sunday, was

evidently suggested by the name to some manufacturer of such wares, who

as readily converted the two long stones, in the field across the road,

which we have already noticed, into the Pipers, who took to their heels

and left the damsels to their fate as soon as their metamorphosis began;

but their ungallant action did not avail, as the petrifying power of the

cursing saint, who stopped their sweet pipings, overtook them when they

ran thus far, and laid them up in stone as we now see them.

No such legend, however, is native to the place, as the old folk only

know it from having it repeated to them by visitors, who have seen it in

books. They never regard the name as having any connection with dancing

maids any more than dairy maids, and the Menhere, changed into Pipers,

were known to them by the name of the Hurlers, from their having been a

goal for the hurling-run, when the starting-post (where the ball was

thrown up) was the cross in the Church-town.

This story affords another example of the way in which the meaning is

lost of many an ancient Cornish name, (which tells a history,) from the

foolish desire to assimilate the expressive old Cornish name to some

unmeaning English nickname. Thus, goon-here-an (the long downs) near

Tregonebras, is become goldherring. And the town-arms of Penzance is

just as bad a punning kind of Blazon. It is easy to understand how

Zans-Mëyn became Daunce-Meyn. A common form of mën is mêdn, as pen

changes into pedn, in Tol-Pedn-Penwith. And this is near enough to

maiden, for the legend to spring up to account for the name.

Another common name for the Celtic circles is the Nine Maidens. Now, as

the usual number of stones in the circle is nineteen, that number may

have something to do with the first part of this name, and the latter

would come from the Cornish, as before, mêdn.

The Daunce-Mêyn is the best known of all the Druidic circles in the

west, as it is within sight from the road frequently taken by those

visitors to the Logan Rock who care for seeing the many interesting

objects, and fine sea views, visible from the lower road, as we call

this route near the sea shore. Yet the circle at Boscawen-un, in the

higher side of the parish, is invested with a peculiar interest, from

the fact of the opinion held by Dr. Borlase that these circles were

places of council of judgment, has been confirmed by an old Welsh triad,

which makes this place still more remarkable by naming it as one of the

three Gorsedds, or places of judgment for poetry and bardic minstrelsy.

This valuable relict of Welsh poetry, as translated by the eminent Welsh

scholar, the late Rev. Thomas Price, is in English:--"The three Gorsedds

of Peetry of the Island of Britain; the Gorsedd of Boscawen Damnonium;

(Damnonium included Cornwall and great part of Devon;) the Gorsedd of

Salisbury, in England; and the Gorsedd of Bryn Gwyddon in Wales."

We hope that when the laureate revisits Cornwall he may be induced to go

there, and, sitting on a granite throne, by the side of the tall central

stone, sing the "Idyls of the King," if only in honour of the Welsh bard

who has preserved the remembrance of this remarkable temple where

ancient minstrels sung of how Merlin, the enchanter, deceived the

beautiful Igerna, so that she received King Uter Pendragon as her

husband--how King Uter died, and Arthur, his son, by Igerna, kept his

court at "Wild Dundagel, by the Cornish sea"--and how our own Prince

Arthur, and his knights of the table rounde, slew all the enemies of

Britain. Here they sang of the beauty and guile of the fair and frail

Guenever--of the honour and truth of Arthur's knights, and the treachery

of Mordred. Here the Bard sounded a lament for the lost lands of

Lethowsow, and the submerged City of Langona:--

"Between Land's End and Scilly rocks

Sunk lies a town that ocean mocks.

* * * * *

Where breathes the man that would not weep

O'er such fine climes beneath the deep?"

We owe a debt of gratitude to Dr. Borlase for preserving to us a graphic

description of these, and many other, Druidic circles which have

disappeared since his time.

Fortunately, the work of destruction has been arrested at Boscawen-un

circle, as the lady to whom the property belongs has caused it to be

surrounded with a good hedge to prevent further spoilation. Some years

ago a wholesome fear prevailed of bad luck following anyone who removed

these landmarks of a long past age, but now our country folk think

themselves more enlightened, and, unless those who have some respect for

the monuments of ancient times, take measures to prevent the recipients

of this questionable sort of enlightenment from exercising their

vandalism, our Celtic remains will soon disappear. Pages might be filled

with an account of the destruction which has taken place within the past

half century.

That these circles were used for religious, judicical, or political

purposes, (and in ancient times all three were combined), there can be

no doubt, from the veneration with which they were formerly regarded.

This solemn respect was expressed in the belief that the avenging deity,

in the shape of Bad Luck (which was felt to be as real a personage as

any other undefined invisible demon) would sooner or later overtake the

sacrilegious destroyer of the ancient holy stones. In many of the oldest

villages there were formerly altar-like stones, known by the name of

garrac zans, (the holy stones) which were protected by the fear of the

goddess of Bad Luck; and until within these last few years, no rude hand

would dare to remove or spoil them. We remember one of these venerated

rocks in the village of Rosekestal and another in Sowah town-place. The

noted stone in Mayon was also called indifferently the garrac zans or

table men. We have heard of many others which were formerly to be seen

in the town-places of ancient hamlets, but their places know them no

more.

Dr. Borlase describes many circles and other Celtic remains as being in

his time almost as perfect as when left by our forefathers thousands of

years ago. Of these public monuments, there is now scarcely a trace to

be found. Recent investigation proves the trustworthiness of the

information preserved by the antiquary, born and bred in Pendeen, in the

very heart of a district which contains, even now, more Celtic remains

of all kinds than any other portion, of equal space, in the British

Isles.

By similar monuments to those we have noticed at Boleigh, the migrations

of the ancient Celtic race may be traced from farthest Ind to the Scilly

Isles.

[Illustration]

[2] It is somewhat curious to notice that no one who has written on

the parish of Buryan, in speaking of the Boleit tombstone in the

church, has pointed out that the inscription is, in accordance

with a very common custom, in verse, namely in a triplet followed

by a distich. It reads thus:--

Clarice, la femme Cheffrei

de Bolleit, git ici,

Dieu de lalme eit mercie.

Ke pur lalme punt

Di ior de pardun aveunt.

The word punt in the fourth line is short for prierunt. Probably

there is now, or at all events, has been at some time, in the

original, a small letter r above the word between the p and the u.

An r has been similarly omitted in aveunt. This somewhat primitive

epitaph may be thus literally translated into equally primitive

English:--

Clarice, the wife of Jefferei

Of Bolleit, here doth lie.

God of her soul have mercie.

For her soul whoever prays

Shall have pardon for ten days.

_From_ ONE AND ALL.

THE LAST CARDEW, OF BOSKENNA, AND THE

STORY OF NELLY WEARNE.

No ditch is so deep, no wall is so high,

If two love each other, they'll meet by and bye;

No storm is so wild, and no night is so black,

If two wish to meet they will soon find a track.

_From_ KLAUS GROTH'S _Song_ "_Keen Graff is so brut_."

_Max Müller's Translation._

There are few places which afford such a variety of picturesque

views as may be seen in and from the grounds of Boskenna

("dwelling-on-the-ridge.") The sylvan and rural are beheld, forming

endless combinations with the grand, the wild, and the romantic.

Glimpses of the boundless ocean are caught through overarching boughs in

deep winding glens, where the brilliant plants of semi-tropical climes

are seen growing in loving companionship with our more modest and sweet

native shrubs, ferns, and flowers.

From the height called the Rockery, (surely there must be an old Cornish

name,) the view embraces towering carns, distant hills, and headlands,

including Castle Teryn and the Lizard Point; scenes of many wild legends

and poetic traditions, of Danish invaders, of witches, saints and

hermits.

"Far as the eye can peer,

The waters roll, divinely blue and clear;

With white sails flashing in the sunlight's ray,

Of countless vessels, near and far away;

Here the wild sea-gull plumes her snowy breast,

Then skims the wave or perches on the crest

Of some majestic cairn, or cromlech where

Long ages past the Druids knelt in prayer,

Till, with stretched wing, she cleaves the fields of blue,

Dips 'neath th' Atlantic, and is lost to view."

One of the most delightful spots on the grounds of Boskenna is a little

wooded glen, through which flows a clear stream, embowered by luxuriant

foliage and fringed with ferns, flags, and sedges, amongst which many

rare wild flowers show their elegant bells of pale blue, and star-like

blossoms of every tint. The brooklet and shady walk wind down this

little vale to St. Loy Cove, where, within a few years, there stood on

the verge of the cliff, the walls and altar of a chapel dedicated to St.

Eloi; but, a few years ago, this interesting relict of the piety of ages

past, with its wrought-stone altar, was thrown over cliff by the, then,

occupier of an adjacent cottage, without the knowledge or permission of

the owner of the property. The vestiges of this sacred building were

thus toppled into the sea, merely that a few feet of land might be

gained for growing early potatoes; and now nothing remains but the name

of St. Loy to connect this romantic spot with the saint by whom

Chaucer's "Wife of Bath" was accustomed to swear. We fear that the

mention of this realistic, marriage-loving dame may put to flight all

poetic notions; yet hear what our Cornish poetess, Mrs. S. E. Tonkin,

(from whom we have quoted above) says of this hallowed shrine.

"A pleasant ramble through a bosky vale;

A pause to hear a babbling brooklet's tale;

A moment's lingering by its mossy well,

And I, once more, am in St. Loy's green dell.

Ages ago, as old traditions say,

The monks devout stole here to fast and pray;

Within these wilds they communed by the sea,

And reared for worship a fair chapelry,

Where pious souls, and needy, found them rest,

And by their prayers and sanctity were blest.

Naught now remains to whisper of the past;

Still, o'er the spot a holy light is cast,

In gothic arches yon fair trees entwine,

Low-drooping o'er the consecrated shrine,

And waves come singing, as they inland flow,

Thrilling the heart with strains of long ago."

The place thus favoured by nature and Mrs. Tonkin's verse, was an

ancient seat of the Cardew family, who, between two and three centuries

ago, also owned Boskenhal and several other farms in the neighbourhood.

The last of this decayed family, who lived in the old home of his

ancestors, mortgaged this place, and other lands, to the predecessors of

the present possessor. The Paynters resided here for some generations,

and the late Mr. John Paynter will long be remembered in the West

Country as a liberal landlord and kind neighbour; and for being more

learned in the law than country justices usually are. It was a common

saying in the West, that "the Squire of Boskenna knew more law than all

the lawyers of Penzance put together!" This place is now the residence

of Charles Dacres Bevan, Esq., Judge of the district County Court. Mr.

Bevan has much improved and beautified both the mansion and grounds.

Many years ago, the late Mr. Cardew, of St. Ives, (who was descended

from a collaterial branch of the Boskenna family) informed us that there

were several old family portraits of the Cardews in the mansion of

Boskenna during his remembrance. He also related the following

traditional

STORY OF NELLY WEARNE.

This damsel was an illegitimate daughter of the last Cardew of Boskenna,

and, (according to a very general custom which prevailed in the West)

this love-child was bound a parish 'prentice to her father that he might

be legally entitled to some degree of guardianship over his

irregularly-begotten offspring. Children thus bound to their fathers

were mostly regarded as a sort of poor cousins to the legitimate members

of the family, and they were often taught a trade or handicraft, or

portioned off with some small tenement. Nelly's spendthrift father,

however, was a most unsuitable guardian for a young girl. He paid much

more regard to his dogs and hunters than to his daughter, who, by all

accounts, was very remarkable for her good looks and devil-may-care

disposition. The Squire's mother did all an old dame could do to

restrain her wild tendencies, and give her a little more gentle breeding

than was thought requisite for an ordinary servant. Dancing was one of

the accomplishments in which Nelly took most delight, and Madam was

rejoiced to find that her damsel was soon the best dancer in Burian.

However hard Nell might have worked during the day, she thought nothing

of going three or four miles of an evening, in any kind of weather, to

enjoy her favourite diversion at some village merry-making. She never

missed Burian Fair, which was then regarded by our western lads and

maidens as the most joyful holiday of the spring.

When Nelly had become a young woman it happened that one Burian

Fair-day the weather was even more tempestuous than usual, though the

storms of Burian Fair are proverbial. Madam Cardew had made up her mind

that Nelly should remain at home that stormy night, but she protested

that neither rain nor wind, thunder nor lightning, nor all the old women

in Burian, should hinder her going to Church-town and dancing at the

Fair, which only came once a year; and she swore that a reel she would

have, before that night was passed, even if she danced with Old Nick.

"She would never be married," she often said, "unless she could meet

with a man who was able to dance her down; and she would find one that

night or the Devil might take her." Off she went in a storm of wind,

rain, and thunder, blaspheming and reviling the old lady, who tried to

keep her home. Arrived in Church-town, Nelly found dancing going on in

every room of the public-house; and violin, fife, or tambourine making

music for the revellers in many other dwellings. Nell entered the

principal room of the inn; and before she cast off her cloak and wrung

the rain from her long black hair, many youngsters asked her to drink

and dance with them, but she refused them all, saying they couldn't keep

the floor half so long as herself--she would either get some better

partner or not have a jig for that night.

Whilst she was declining the offers of her rustic suitors, two

dark-complexioned, strapping sailors entered, and one of them, dressed

in dashing style, with gold lace on his coat, broad leather belt round

his waist, cutlass by his side, and glossy boots reaching to his knees,

advanced to Nelly, doffed his hat, bowed, and said, "Pray dance with me,

my fair pretty maid?" "With all my heart, sir," she replied, rising and

giving him her hand. Nelly's partner called to his comrade, "Now pipe

away, Bosun, and give us the good old tune." The seaman addressed as

Bosun took a pipe from his pocket, marched round the couple prepared to

dance, saying "A floor, a floor, for the lovely Nell and our gallant

Capt. Black." The piper blew at first a rather slow measure, to which

the captain's heel and toe, true as an echo, showed a new step at every

change of pass and pitch. By slow degrees the tune became quicker till

it was such as Nelly never moved her feet to before. The lively music

soon drew such a crowd into the room to see the dancers, that the floor

beams warped and showed signs of breaking. Then, as the storm lulled and

a full moon shone bright, the dancers, followed by all the rest, left

the house for an open space below the cross. Now every one wanted to

treat the seamen, and they drank as much as they could, to show their

good fellowship with every one, and Captain Black, giving a purse of

gold to the landlady, desired her to send out her best cordials for the

women kind, and to keep her beer-cocks running, that all might drink

health to him and the lovely Nell.

When one and all had drunk as much as they liked, the Bosun's pipe

again rung out so loud and clear that his music was heard for miles

away. The Captain, Nelly, and scores of others again danced in joyous

style. People from all parts flocked round them; every house in

Church-town was soon empty. Old men and women hobbled and danced on

their crutches; the piper's lively strains set every one in motion, till

the road was covered with dancers, capering like mad folks, all the way

from Park-an-cady to the cross and around the churchyard. Soon after

midnight, however, whilst their mirth was at its height, there suddenly

came on a more violent storm than ever of wind, hail, and thunder. The

sky, black as pitch one moment, was all ablaze the next. Streams of

lightning fell and ran hissing along the ground. All were terror-struck

with the sudden rise of this awful weather. Yet, in the general

consternation, some one had the happy thought to ring the bells, that

their sound might allay the weather, and drive away the evil spirits who

rode on the tempest. With the first stroke of the big bell the

thunder-clouds rolled away to the eastward, and at the same instant

Captain Black vanished with Nelly and the piper.

This terrific storm, joined with the sudden disappearance of Nelly and

the dark looking strangers, so frightened many that they fell down in

fits, and others, from the same cause, were never right in their heads

again.

On a tract of uncultivated land north of Boskenna lane, there was then a

barn, which usually contained a quantity of dry food for the cattle

wintered on the downs. This barn, then full of straw and hay, was burned

to the ground that Fair-night, and near its ruins were found a

handkerchief, full of fairings, with some other things which belonged to

Nell, but all search for the wilful damsel was in vain. Most people

believed that Captain Black was the Old One, disguised as a seaman, and

the Bosun some inferior devil in attendance--that Nell, by her

blasphemous language, had brought them from below, whither they had now

taken her to dance as best she might. Squire Cardew, being less

superstitious than many of his neighbours, conjectured that the strange

dancer and piper were nothing worse than two jovial sailors, who had

carried her off to their ship--an occurrence far from unusual in these

times; and in hopes of gaining some tidings of his stolen or strayed

daughter, he rode into Penzance and over to Market-jew, to make

enquiries; but he could learn nothing of her. Some said, however, that a

strange craft had anchored in Guavas Lake, the Fair-day, and that part

of her crew had landed in Newlyn, but nothing farther was known of them,

as the ship made sail the next morning.

Nelly's gay songs were missed in Boskenna hall, where she often sung for

hours, to cheer the old lady when they were together plying their

spinning-wheels, or seated in the window, lighted with the evening sun,

at their embroidery. Then, at night, she used to be foremost in the

dance with her father and his roystering companions of the chase.

Grief for the strange fate of Nelly shortened the days of old Madam

Cardew, who was soon at rest in Burian churchyard, and the Squire took

to hunting, drinking, and rioting worse than ever.

Twenty years and more passed; Nelly and the Cardews were all but

forgotten; new people possessed their ancient domain; none of their kin

remained in the West, but an old well-to-do yeoman and his family, who

resided at Sennen.

One dreary afternoon there was a very humble funeral at Burian Church,

and the last Cardew of Boskenna was laid beside the dust of his

forefathers. Soon after candlelighting on that day, whilst some few who

came to see the last of the spendthrift, who had lavished his property

upon them, were still drinking in the public house, there entered,

dripping wet, and weary, an elderly foreign-looking woman, whose dress

of rich stuff and of outlandish make, was travel-stained and much the

worse for wear. The large hooped-shaped rings in her ears, joined with

her dark complexion and long braids of black hair wound around her head,

only covered with the hood of her scarlet mantle, made her appearance

still more remarkable.

The stranger enquired if Betty Trenoweth, who many years ago lived in

Boskenna, was still alive. She was answered that Betty was alive and

well, and lived no farther off than a minute's walk would take her, in a

comfortable dwelling of her own, over Trevorgans side of Church-town.

Without giving any one the chance to question her as to who she was, or

whence she came, the outlandish-looking dame proceeded to Betty

Trenoweth's cottage. The elderly woman, who opened her door, asked the

stranger in and placed her to sit by her fireside, wondering who she

could be and what she could want of her, at that time of night. The

stranger in a broken voice and speaking in an unfamiliar tongue, made

many enquiries about the Cardews, and appeared to think they were all

still living in Boskenna.

Betty informed her that none of the name were then in the place--that

her old mistress had long been dead, and the young master was that day

buried, having lost all his lands, she couldn't tell how, and the new

people had, for years, only kept him there in a condition little better

than that of a servant to hunt the same dogs which were his own a short

time ago. "But who can you be," she continued, "not to know anything

about them now; yet, from what you say, you must have known them all

long ago? Oh! if I could but believe that dear Nelly were still alive,

from the sound of your voice, so like the tones of the one laid in his

grave to-day, I would say that you were she; and if you are, I have kept

everything that belonged to ye, and what was found on the morning after

the Downs barn was burnt is now in my chest."

"My dear old friend," the stranger replied, "I'm your Nelly. The night I

lost that handkerchief I found my husband, but we must have some rest

before I can tell ye our history."

Dame Trenoweth showed her delight at again beholding Nelly, by

preparing her a good supper and a comfortable bed. In the morning Nelly

rose refreshed, and knowing the old woman wished to hear how she had

fared since they danced together at Burian Fair, commenced by asking,

"Did it never come into your head to think who the dark seaman could be?

You had often seen the one, whom many took for Old Nick, dance with me

in Boskenna hall, when he, and scores of others, came to Feast. He had

to leave the country, because a person he beat in fair fight died from

the effects of his lusty blows, three years, or so, before that Burian

Fair; and the Bosun, too, was a lad you very well knew."

"Oh," exclaimed Betty, "now I see it all: the one that took you off was

young Billy Brea, and his comrade was his cousin Bosvargus, of

Kelynack."

"You have rightly guessed," Nelly replied.

"Hundreds of times," Betty continued to say, "old mistress and I have

wondered what was become of the wild youngster who was so fond of you,

even when a young girl working your sampler; and he, foremost in the

hunt or fight, always said he'd have no other wife than the lovely

little Nell. And old Madam would often say that, though he might be as

poor as poor might be, yet was he come of the gentle blood of the Breas

of Brea, who at one time were as rich and high as any in the West

Country; and their old mansion, with the chapel turned into a barn by

those who now occupy their estate, and their chapel on the hill of Brea,

still show how grand they once were! I remember, too, the many good

offers you had from rich farmers' sons around, and wondered how you

refused them all."

When the old dame had somewhat recovered from her surprise, Nelly told

her, that, young and thoughtless as she was, until Brea, to avoid

trouble to his family, escaped with great haste and secrecy, she had no

notion how deep was her love for the unfortunate youngster, and that he,

unknown to every one but herself, had been for many days and nights in

Boskenna or Treviddern cliff, before Bosvargus found a merchant-ship, in

which they both left on a long voyage. Nelly knew if all went right,

when they might be expected to return; and Brea promised her that,

whenever he came on shore, he'd take no rest till he met her again in

the old chapel of St. Loy, where many a long and dreary night she had

watched and prayed for his safe return, and often of an evening, or a

winter's night, when the inmates of Boskenna thought her in bed, or

miles away at some merry-making, she was wandering the cliffs, or

waiting in the cairns near by, in hope of meeting with her absent lover.

Yet she had only the chance to see him at long intervals, and then only

for a short time.

Four or five years after Brea went to sea, he became captain of a ship.

Then he proposed to take Nelly with him as his bride, and she, being

nothing loath, they met at St. Loy, one night, a little before the Fair,

and agreed that, at the Fair, a dance together they would have, and that

should be their bridal night. He was so altered, as well as his comrade,

the Bosun, that no person but Nelly knew them, and, if they did, no one

would betray him, or turn informer.

When Nelly had come thus far in the history of her courtship, Betty

said, "Now, my darling, one can understand how, in spite of wind and

rain, you were so eager to go to Fair that night; and, faith, I'd go

through fire and water for the man I loved when at the mad age you were

then. One can see how drink, given without stint, by the open-hearted

sailor, together with the music of the Bosun's pipe, set every one

dancing in spite of themselves. Then, when the storm so suddenly came,

and as suddenly broke, and you vanished in the midst of thunder and

lightning, with Brea and his Bosun, everyone believed you were carried

off by the Devil, and it's thought so still. But tell me what next

became of ye?"

Nelly then related, how when the storm was at its height, Brea took her

on towards Boskenna. They intended to see old Madam, say farewell, and

take a horse from the stable to help them on their road; but, long

before they came to Boskenna gate, with hard weather, drinking, and

dancing, Nelly was unable to stand. Then Billy Brea took her up in his

arms, and bore her along till they came to the Downs barn, where she

fell on the straw half dead. Brea remembered every hole and corner about

the place, and knew that a tinder-box, with candle and lanthorn, used to

be kept in the barn that one might have light in winters' mornings to

bundle up straw or hay for the cattle, and, being anxious to reach his

ship early in the morning, wanting to know the time, and not being over

steady in the head, when he struck a light and saw by his watch that

there was still some hours to daybreak, he, neglecting to put out the

candle, fell asleep and only woke to find the place on fire. He drew

Nelly from the burning barn, and they hurried on to Mousehole, where

they found the Bosun and boat's crew waiting for them.

"And have ye been lawfully married, my darling?" asked the old dame.

"Indeed we have," answered Nelly, "not that I cared much about the

ceremony; for to me his love was all in all, and from that moment I felt

sure of his truth and affection I regarded him as my husband and freely

gave him all that love requires. Yet as we were near a port when I was

about to become a mother, my husband proposed we should go through the

legal form which would entitle our children to bear their father's

family name, if they chose; so one may say they are, at least, all truly

born. But that was of little consequence, because he was no more known

by the name of Brea."

Captain Black, as we shall henceforth call Nelly's husband, offered her

a home either on land or on board. She decided to make her abode in his

gallant ship; the Captain was pleased with her choice, and she not to be

encumbered with an inconvenient dress for such a life, rigged herself in

man's attire, and soon learned to do the duty of an able seaman. To act

as cook and steward on board ship soon became as natural to her as the

care of Boskenna mansion. Besides this, Nelly learned to keep the ship's

reckoning and navigation so well, that often, when the Captain was laid

low with wounds or fever, she took his place, and by that means saved

the ship and ship's company.

During many years they traded from London to distant ports in various

parts of the globe, without any serious mishap; but, on a return voyage

from the Levant, a Barbary corsair gave chase and overtook them. At that

time these sea-robbers seldom levied what they were pleased to call dues

for coming into, or crossing, their waters, from any English ships, but

often from a motive of revenge as much as for gain, confined their

attention to Spanish and French vessels. This Levantine gang, however,

attempted to board and take the _Buck_, and many of them were cut down

by her crew, as they came up the side, before they gave over and made

off. In this encounter Captain Black, Nelly, and several of the crew

were badly wounded. This maddened the Captain, and he swore to serve out

these cursed pirates if his crew would join him. Nell and all the ship's

company, being as eager for revenge as their Captain, and hoping by this

neck-or-nothing game to acquire riches quickly, as soon as their cargo

was disposed of, the Captain having saved a large sum, procured a

suitable craft for privateering which he called the _Lovely Nell_, and

when she was well armed and victualled, they made sail for the Levantine

seas, where, in a short time, they captured several rich prizes, and,

among others, the galleon which was the cause of their becoming

privateers. On this crew they took ample revenge.

Nelly, and all the ship's company, liking the excitement of this wild

life, and not being over-scrupulous as to the means of getting rich, no

sooner neared the Cornish coast that the Captain, Nelly, Bosvargus, and

some few others, put ashore, in a boat, at Goonwalla Cove, and buried a

quantity of gold in some secret nooks of the cliff. The _Lovely Nell_

then took her course for the sea-rovers' rendezvous in the West Indies.

There, many years were passed in buccaneering expeditions to plunder

the French and Spanish Settlements, until they had amassed a great

quantity of treasure in money and jewels, taken in pillage and for the

ransom of prisoners. Nelly said that, for many years, she much enjoyed

this roving life. During that time several children were born. And all

who lived were boys, who soon became expert sailors, and, after serving

their apprenticeship with their dad, all but the oldest and youngest had

then left for other vessels.

About a year before the time Nelly returned to Burian, she, with her

husband and most of the crew, thinking they were rich enough, wished to

give up this roving life, and decided to settle down in their native

land. They disintered the riches they had buried in various uninhabited

islands and keys, which were only frequented by such as themselves. The

chests of dollars, bars of silver, ingots of gold, ornaments, jewels,

and rare gems, which belonged to the Captain's share alone, were worth

more than would purchase half-a-dozen such estates as Boskenna, and the

dearest wish of her heart was that they might return in time to free

that place for her father.

They were many months collecting all their riches. They then set sail

from the western main, and arrived with fair weather in sight of the

Cornish coast. The wind being light and sea smooth they kept close in

shore for the pleasure of gazing on the well-remembered carns and coves.

More than a week before they sighted land, Nelly was seized with a most

intense desire to be put ashore at some cove near the Land's End, and,

when they beheld the well-known landmark of Burian Tower, saw Castle

Trereen, passed Penberth, St. Loy, and Lamorna Coves, her longing to

land and see her father was such that she could neither eat nor sleep;

and this was about the time he breathed his last.

She begged to be landed in Mount's Bay, but her husband, wishing her to

remain on board till their vessel should be disposed of and their riches

turned into English money, they passed the Lizard, when, to save her

from going mad, she was put ashore at Falmouth. Thence she was brought

on horseback to Market-jew, and walked from that place to Burian. Her

husband agreed, should the weather permit, to return to Mount's Bay, and

there cruise about until she might be ready to proceed along with him,

when, as was arranged, she would be taken on board from Mousehole or the

Mount. This is the substance of what Nelly related to her old friend, of

her adventures up to that night; and when Dame Trenoweth told her how

all the Cardews were dead and gone from Boskenna, she no longer desired

to see the old mansion, but heartily wished herself again on the ocean

with the one for whom she had left her native land and weathered the

storms of more than twenty years; she endeavoured to cheer herself with

the hope that, ere many days, she would again behold the _Lovely Nell_,

sailing, in all her pride of flowing sails, and, walking the

quarter-deck, her husband, near enough to be hailed from Reginnis Cliff.

The second day after Nelly's return to Burian, she became anxious to

rejoin her husband, as she knew the wind had been favourable for him to

beat back to Mount's Bay. It had been arranged that he should cruise

about near the coast for a day or two, or until she might give him a

signal, from Paul Cliff, to send a boat ashore for her at Mousehole. The

following morning Nelly rose by break of day, dressed herself in a suit

of seaman's clothes which she had brought with her, left her discarded

woman's dress, and a good sum of money, with Dame Trenoweth, and wished

her good-bye, saying that she hoped to see her again ere long, when she

and her husband would settle down in the West, to end their days in

peace.

Before sunrise, Nelly stood on the high headland west of Mousehole,

straining her vision in a vain endeavour to pierce the clouds of mist

which rolled over the water and hid both sea and shore. She could hear

the fishermen's voices and the sound of oars rattling in the row-locks;

but, only at the distance of a stone's cast, land, sea, and sky, were

all shrouded in fog. A few hours later the mist cleared away. She saw

boats returning from the fishing-ground, and a good many vessels passing

across the Bay, but no craft that could be taken for her husband's ship.

Tired with watching, from the cliff, the ships as they sailed past, she

descended to Mousehole to make enquiries there, if any vessel like the

_Lovely Nell_ had been seen on the coast. She met with no person until

near Squire Keigwin's mansion, and there, near the balcony, were

collected a number of people around a pile of such things as are usually

found loose on a ship's deck. Nelly joined the crowd, who told her that

the water-casks, hatches, buckets, spars, and other articles she saw

before her had, that morning, been found floating near Lamorna Cove; and

everybody thought that a ship, which was seen cruising near the shore,

the night before, must have struck on some dangerous rocks west of

Lamorna, sprung a leak, and foundered in deep water, with all hands on

board. Nelly, hearing this, rushed through the crowd, examined the

wreck, and there saw many well-remembered articles belonging to her

husband's ship. Whether Nelly cried, fainted, or gave any other natural

expression to her grief, we don't know. Without discovering herself,

however, to the people of Mousehole, she remained there all day, hoping

to hear something farther from others who had gone out in search of

anything which might be floating near the place where it was supposed

the vessel must have sunk; but nothing more was learnt of the disaster.

Some fishermen, however, said that when the mist cleared away they saw a

boat far out to sea, but that they concluded it to be a smuggling craft

bound for France.

Late at night Nelly returned crushed with grief, to her old friend who

did all she could to console her, and time, which alleviates all

sorrows, at last brought relief to the bereaved woman. Then she assisted

the old dame in her household work and in carding and spinning--more

because constant exercise made her think less of her loss than from any

necessity for exertion to gain a livelihood. She had brought with her a

good sum of money, intended to pay off the incumbrances of her father's

estate (in these times a small amount of gold would buy a large extent

of land). She had many valuable jewels besides. An Betty was also well

off. Having seen the last of Madam Cardew, the old servant had from her

son many valuable dresses and old heirlooms of the family, saved,

between them, from the clutches of those who got the besotted Squire

into their power, and, long before he died, this old servant of the

family was the only one in the wide world to care for him, or who showed

him any kindness. Nelly, on her mother's side, being a near relation to

Dame Trenoweth, she regarded the poor wanderer as her own daughter. When

several months had passed a circumstance occurred which gave Nelly just

that uncertain glimmer of Hope against Reason, which is more grievous to

bear than the certainty of evil.

A sealed bottle was found in Mount's Bay, containing a paper on which

Captain Black's name, and those of several others, were written. It was

directed to "Nelly Wearne, Boskenna;" and the news came to her through

the gossip of the village. The paper was lost or destroyed without

reaching her, because everyone thought that she was an inhabitant of a

warmer region.

An Betty one day said to Nelly, "'Tis as good as a play, my dear, to see

how all the old women of Church-town try to discover who and what you

are, and they can't find out, because, for the fun of the thing, I take

good care to fool them." Seeing that Nelly roused herself and took some

interest in her talk, she continued,

"They are mad to know how you are never to be seen anywhere

out-of-doors, except down in the cliffs, early in a morning or late of

moonlight nights."

"Well, and what did you answer to that?" Nelly asked.

"To puzzle them the more," said Betty, "I told the curious, prying

fools, that you were a Wise Woman come from the East--that you ramble

over cliffs and moors to gather herbs, whilst the morning dew is on

them, or when the moon is near the full--that no one can beat you in

making from them, ointments, salves, and still-waters--that you

understand all sorts of complaints and can cure anything, from the

gripes to the palsy. And now all the young wenches in the parish want to

know if you can read fortunes; they think you can because you look like

a gipsey, so they say. 'Why yes to be sure; nobody better,' I told them.

Now listen to me," Betty went on to say, when she had recovered her

breath, "I've made them believe that you can read the stars--that you

know all that will happen to any body by the lines of their palms--that

you can tell, by means of rushes, spring water, and ivy leaves, and

scores of ways besides, who are to be married, as well as who are to die

unblessed with a husband. And to everything they asked about your

knowledge of white witchcraft, I assured them that you knew more about

magic, conjuration, and so forth, than the Witch of Endor that we have

all heard of."

"My dear old friend," says Nelly, "how could 'e go on so. I know no more

about fortune-telling than you do--perhaps not so much, as you're a

noted hand for charming."

"No matter for that," answered An Betty, "You know everything remarkable

that ever happened in the families round up to the last twenty years or

so, and what you don't know I can tell 'e. When they find that you're

acquainted with what's past they are sure to believe that you can read

them the future. Besides, this game will serve to divert your thoughts

from ever dwelling on Billy Brea, or Captain Black, if you have a mind

to call him so."

"I don't much mind trying, but how shall I manage to know who they are?"

"You keep in the hale," (best room) Betty replied, "and, before they see

you, I'll come in and tell 'e who they are; then, when they enter to

consult 'e, be sure, first of all, to give a hint at some scandal that

made a noise about their families, no matter how long ago; everything

bad is remembered for ages after the good is forgotten. Then promise the

young lasses any number of sweethearts and a speedy marriage. You know

what you used to wish for in your teens."

In spite of her grief, Nelly, to please the old dame, soon became

widely known as the wise woman, or white witch, of Burian Church-town.

She read the fortunes of young and old, much to their satisfaction and

her own gain. Those who could'nt pay in cash paid in kind. The greatest

trouble she had was with the sedate, plain, and sour elderly females,

who were all but past hope. They would come, and come again, mad to know

if they were ever to be blessed with a husband. By the old woman's

advice, Nelly gave them dubious answers and advice for wheedling old

hoary-heads and hobble-de-hoys, as they were easiest snared. 'Tis said

some were supplied with love-powders, made from the bulbs of plants

commonly called Adam and Eve, and that others were furnished with

compounds for more questionable purposes. In a little while Nelly became

famous for match-making. Her outlandish dress and the strange speech

which she affected, made the simple folks, who had never been out of the

smoke of their chimnies, think she must have been born and bred in

Egypt, or in some other foreign land of which they had heard.

Sometimes, when at a loss to find a suitable response to the wishes or

fears of her visitors, she would burst out with long, unintelligible

words, as if forgetting herself, and end by saying, "Oh! my dears, know

that, far away as I am from my native land, I often think that I am

speaking to my cousins, the maidens of Jericho; all the tongues of

eastern countries are easier for me than your Cornish speech." At other

times she would entertain them with stories of what she had learned from

an uncle in Babylon. Besides carrying on these profitable trades of

soothsaying, charming, and deviltry, Nelly and Dame Trenoweth made and

sold ointments that were in great demand for the cure of various skin

diseases, which were more common in those times (when much salt meat was

used all the year round) than the same class of distempers are at the

present day. The way in which these ointments, salves, or unguents were

prepared, was by seething in lard elder-flowers, betony, and other

healing or drying herbs, cut fine, until their medical virtues were

extracted; then the ointment was carefully strained from the herbs and

ready for use. As a remedy for a troublesome distemper, now seldom heard

of, they made an ointment from Skaw-dower, the English of the name is

water-elder, (the _Scrophularia_:) sulphur was mixed with this unguent

for the disease alluded to. Another noted preparation of this time was a

golden-coloured salve, made from purified lard and celandine juice; this

was much esteemed as a remedy for obscured sight. Our wise-women also

distilled elder-flowers, eye-bright, and other cooling herbs for

eye-waters.

Nelly and her aged friend had acquired much useful knowledge about the

virtues of plants from Madam Cardew, who, like many other ladies of the

West Country, at that time, prepared from simples, many useful medicines

with which they supplied their poorer neighbours, and such was Nelly's

fame as a skilful doctoress, that, before a year was gone, gentle and

simple came from a great distance to consult her for her medicines. Her

preparations might have possessed medical virtues which need not be

despised even in these enlightened times. Though the faculty make a jest

of old women's nostrums, yet in our great-grandmother's time, the uses

and natures of various plants were much better understood by country

ladies than they are at the present day; because those who are esteemed

accomplished botanists pay more attention to the classification and

nomenclature of plants than to their usefulness. In this kind of life,

Nelly passed her time--seemingly tranquil. Knowing that any expression

of gloomy feeling only makes it take the deeper root, she showed no

outward signs of sorrow. Yet she was for ever grieving over the untimely

fate of the lost ones; and, when alone with her old friend, she would

often say that, in spite of all she could do to forget, her heart was

ever with her husband and children at the bottom of the deep. However

skilful the poor woman might have been in reading others' fortunes, she

little knew what fate had in store for her.

One Autumn evening, about three years after Nelly returned, she was

alone with her old friend relating some adventures of her seafaring

life. As usual, her husband's reckless courage and bravery was the theme

of her discourse. A knock was heard at the open door. Dame Trenoweth

rose and saw, standing on the door-sill, a stout, dark man, who asked if

any one lived there who could read his fortune? Nelly knew the voice,

sprung to the door, and was clasped in her husband's arms.

"Whatever has happened," said Nelly, "thank the Powers, you are safe.

But tell me where are my sons?" "Here's one of them," said a lusty young

fellow, stepping into the doorway, from having stood on one side fearing

the fortune-teller wouldn't turn out to be his mother, "and my eldest

brother is on board our good ship anchored in Guavas Lake, which we left

a few hours since."

The Captain then related how he had come to Boskenna, expecting still to

find some of the Cardews there, and Nelly with them. He found none but

strangers, who told him that the Cardews were all dead and their clothes

washed--that Nelly Wearne had never been heard of since she was carried

away by the Old One, as every body believed.

They came on to Church-town and enquired at the inn if a strange woman

had come to the parish about three years since, and were told that a

gipsey fortune-teller, who lived with Betty Trenoweth, came there about

that time.

Before going to rest Captain Black related how, on the foggy morning,

when he hoped to take Nelly on board, by a mistake in reckoning, he kept

too near the shore, and their ship struck on a rock west of Lamorna. As

the ship leaked but little at first, they hoped she had only sustained

slight damage. They tacked off the coast, still shrouded in dense fog,

and intended to bring her into Mousehole or Penzance; but, in an hour or

so, the water poured in so fast that they had barely time to launch a

boat and place in it a small part of their riches, when the _Lovely

Nell_ went to the bottom, with several of the crew in her hold. The

Captain told all hands to let the jewels, gold, and silver go to Davy

Jones's locker, but some of them, disregarding his orders, went below

and were endeavouring to save a part of their riches when the ship sunk,

and he being the only one then on deck swam off and reached the boat.

They remained an hour or more, beating about where the ship went down,

in hopes that some of the submerged crew might escape from the hold and

rise to the surface. The fog still hid the shore, so that they knew not

on which side of the coast they lay, and, before they had time to think

much of their loss, or to form any plans for the future, a ship, with

sails and rigging all out of order, loomed in the mist, within speaking

distance.

There was not a soul to be seen on the dirty-looking craft. Black hailed

her with the usual questions. No response. They were about to board her

and hailed again, when a man rambled to the gangway and, in a drunken

voice, answered "Here I am: this ship is the _Red Rover_." To the

questions where bound, &c., he replied "We are from the Seas; we want to

get to Madagascar; can't 'e tell us the way, mate, and where we are now?

we ought to be near there by this time I should think, and seeming to me

I have heard your voice before now, but can't call 'e by name, who are

'e an? and where do 'e hail from when you are home?"

On getting nearer, Captain Black perceived that the one who spoke to him

was a St. Just man, who had sailed with him many years--a good fellow,

and a first-rate seaman when sober, but he was so seldom capable of

performing his duty, that the Captain, to be rid of him, and others of

the crew equally fond of rum, had, a year or so ago, left them the good

ship in which they sailed; but now from neglect, those who built the

strong and swift-sailing craft wouldn't know her.

"Oh; I know 'e now," said the St. Just man, after he had stared at

Captain Black awhile. "You are our old commander, and I am brave (very)

and glad to find 'e; and where have 'e left your ship, the _Lovely

Nell_?"

Black inquired for their captain and quarter-master.

"I'm cappen to-day," he of the _Red Rover_ replied, "we are all

commanders in turn when we arn't too drunk, like all the rest of us are

now. As for quarter-master, we haven't wanted any yet to share the

prizes; but we want a captain who can keep the reckoning, and you shall

take charge of the ship with all my heart, if you will."

With the St. Just man's full consent, Black and the remnant of his

ship's company, among whom were his two sons, took possession of the

_Red Rover_ which, for strength and swiftness, was almost equal to his

former craft. Before the drunken crew came to their senses all the arms

and ammunition were secured in the cabin. Then, over a bowl of punch,

Black was elected Captain; a quarter-master was chosen, as was usual

with these hardy seamen; and they had a carpenter among them who always

performed the surgical operation: in case of need he would take the

wounded limb under his arm, and, with his big saw, separate it from the

body of his patient, with as much ease and as quickly as he could have

cut a spar in two, and with his red-hot axe cauterize the wound.

Rules were drawn up, agreeably to the sea-rover's code, and sworn to on

an axe--the _Rover's_ old crew consenting to all Captain Black required

on the condition that there should be no stint of rum.

Now a few days after this, whilst the old and new hands were working in

company, clearing the deck of all lumber, that they might have a fair

stage for fighting and otherwise getting things into ship-shape, it

leaked out and was known to the Captain that, only a few months since,

the _Rover's_ former crew had chosen a commander and officers who knew

something of navigation, but when the crew was augmented by half a score

desperadoes from the lawless multitude swarming about the islands, these

officers, for trying to check the riotous proceedings of their ship's

company, got themselves marooned; that is, they were put ashore on an

uninhabited island, that they might take their chance to die or live. As

these deserted men were the only ones on board who had any notion of

keeping a ship's reckoning, the drunken crew, who took possession, when

found in Mount's Bay, had a very vague idea as to what part of the world

they were sailing in, and they had, by fits and starts, a week or so

past, given chase to the _Lovely Nell_, thinking her to be some richly

laden merchant-man. She and her crew had been altered in her rig, and

otherwise, so as to pass for a ship pursuing an honest vocation. Some of

the marooned men were well known to Captain Black and esteemed by him to

be worthy fellows, as pirates go, and as brave men and true--for

gentlemen of their profession. Without enlightening his crew as to their

destination, he made sail for the desolate island, and by the time they

had their guns, pistols, and cutlasses clean and fit for service they

arrived at the place of exile only just in time to save the deserted men

from starving in the midst of plenty; all for want of a tinder-box, or

any other means of kindling a fire. The rescued men told Captain Black

and the sober portion of his ship's company, that they would repay them

for their deliverance with something more substantial than words. The

fact was that in wandering over and round the island in search of water,

yams, roots and fruits, or whatever would contribute to sustain life,

they had discovered an immense quantity of buried treasures, probably

the concealed spoil of former pirates, which were taken on board to be

shared among all but those who marooned them. The drunken mutineers,

when their former officers were brought on board, were sent on shore

with a tipsey fiddler to take their places.

Among the rescued Captain Black found one of his own sons. This did not

surprise him, as he had left his father's ship many years ago, that he

might enjoy more liberty elsewhere; but it accounted for the silence of

the crew. It was only in their drunken bouts that an intimation of the

occurrence escaped, on which the Captain acted.

Some provisions, a tinder-box, and materials for striking fire, were

left with the sailors on the island. The rescued officers soon recovered

their strength, and, falling in with a strong and swift-sailing Spanish

ship, the _Rover_ gave chase, and captured the prize, which, as one

captain was enough in a ship, was handed over to those delivered from

the island, who retained part of the crew and made the rest walk the

plank.

Captain Black, with his share of the treasures found on the island, was

as well off as ever he was for returning; but, as the greatest part of

his ship's company preferred to enjoy their free-and-easy life a few

years longer, they bore away to the Spanish Main, where they sometimes

acted in concert with other buccaneers.

Nothing worthy of note is related of their adventures. One of their

practical jokes was whenever the buccaneers took a priest in any of the

Spanish settlements, they conveyed the sable gentleman on board, placed

him on all-fours, and rode him round the deck, or made him dance by

sweating him with pricks of knives or forks, &c., as long as the fiddler

or piper could play.

In about three years they had treasures to their hearts' content, and

those who chose to give up their adventurous career returned with

Captain Black. Best part of the night was passed by the returned Captain

in relating his adventures to his wife and the old dame.

Early next morning three horses were procured, and Nelly, with her

husband and son, were on Newlyn beach by break of day.

Captain Black hailed the _Red Rover_. A boat, well manned, left the

ship and soon grounded on Newlyn beach. Then such a man as the Captain

was when he danced at Burian Fair, on his stormy bridal night, sprang

from the boat and beat through the sea to meet his mother. With little

delay great store of money, jewels, rich stuffs, and other valuables

were landed and conveyed to Betty Trenoweth's dwelling. The _Red Rover_

with Nelly's eldest son appointed commander, proceeded on her voyage to

London, that her valuable merchandise might there be disposed of. Now

the Captain and younger Black, by Nelly's earnest desire, consented at

least to try the landsman's peaceful life. They had more riches than

would suffice to purchase a good farm and enable them to live at their

ease. The son, too, seems to have had no great love for a sea-rover's

profession. Black leased, or purchased, a large old house at Trevorgans,

with about thirty acres of tillable land, and a great run of downs and

moors which, though they could not boast of much in the shape of game,

were well stocked with rabbits, and the moors, in winter, were resorted

to by wild-fowl--a substitute for beasts of chase not to be despised

when but little fresh meat could be had. Then hunting was pursued as

much for necessity as for pastime. The younger Black took to farming

kindly, for one who had only been used to plough the deep, and soon

acquired a sufficient knowledge of the simple husbandry practised at

that time.

When the only crops grown in fields were corn and pulse, green crops

for winter's consumption were unknown, and potatoes, just introduced,

were regarded as something more curious than useful, and to be

cultivated in the gardens of rich folks only; just as Jerusalem

artichokes, asparagus, sea-kale, salsify, beans, and many other useful

plants, which ought to be grown in every farmer's field or garden, are

still neglected here. The bold Buccaneer, Black, was well received and

made much of by the neighbouring gentry, who, for the most part, were

very poor; yet they contrived to keep up a show of gentility on very

inadequate means. Then in Burian parish alone, one might count seven or

eight gentlemen's seats, or, more correctly, what by courtesy were

called such, which were inhabited by different branches of the Pendars,

Tresillians, Davieses, Jenkins, Harveys, Hutchenses, and others. The

Levealises had become extinct, and the Noys, Boscawens, Vivians, &c.,

had shortly before then removed from their ancient homes to other parts

of the country. Portions of their old mansions still remain in the

condition of dilapidated farm-houses in Trove, Trevider, Treveddern,

Pendrea, Baranhuel, Alsia, Tresidder, Rissic, &c. A country church was

then, (perhaps even more than it is now,) the principle stage on which

the rural gentry displayed their state and grandeur to admiring rustics.

Captain Black, not to be eclipsed, would appear in Burian Church on

Sundays and holidays dressed in crimson damask waistcoat and breeches,

silk hose, diamond knee and shoe-buckles, a red feather in his cocked

hat, a gold chain round his neck with a diamond cross hung to it,

jewel-hilted sword, hanging by a silk sash at his side; his naval-blue

coat resplendent with gold buttons, lace, and other trappings proper to

the Buccaneer's costume. Nelly, decked out in rich velvets, lace, silks,

satins, and jewels which once belonged to dark-eyed senoras of Mexico or

Peru, eclipsed all the ladies of the West Country.

Such a man as Captain Black, notwithstanding his former profession was

not a person to be treated with contempt at any time, and much less "In

the days when we went a pirating, a long time ago." These gentlemen were

looked upon as heroic adventurers, who served the dons, by way of

reprisal, no worse than they deserved. Because then, if an English,

French, or Dutch ship put into a Spanish-American port she was likely to

be confiscated, and her crew kept prisoners, or treated no better than

slaves, if they escaped with their lives, till dearly ransomed. We have

little to do, however, with the morality of sea-highwaymen. Yet, if old

stories may be credited, our brave Buccaneer Black soon became a greater

favourite with certain ladies of the parish than he was with their

lovers and husbands.

One tale is often told of his adventures with a gay lady of the

Tresillian family, who then lived at Tresidder, and how a noted smuggler

called Ackey Carn, one both landless and lawless, who cared for no man,

being a rival for the gay dame's favour, by way of a jest spoke of

certain amatory passages which he had witnessed between the Captain and

lady, whose powerful and proud relatives constrained Carn, under pain of

their displeasure, to do penance in Burian Church for thus thoughtlessly

exposing the scandal. But the culprit, who, according to custom, came

into church barefooted and clad in a sheet, instead of kneeling before

the priest or parson, to beg pardon, and otherwise express contrition,

and receive the priestly reprimand with becoming humility, stood up in

front of the rud-locks (rood-loft,) turned his back to the priest and,

facing the congregation (crowded to behold the show) made the

well-remembered speech which begins:--

"Here am I, compelled by the law

For to deny what my own eyes saw, &c."