E-text prepared by Lionel Sear
CORNWALL'S WONDERLAND
by
MABEL QUILLER-COUCH.
1914
This e-text was prepared from a version published in 1914.
PREFACE.
With a vivid recollection of the keen enjoyment I myself found in the
strange and wonderful Romances and Legends of Old Cornwall, now so
rapidly being forgotten; with a remembrance too of the numerous long
and involved paragraphs--even pages--that I skipped, as being prosy
or unintelligible, written as they were in a dialect often
untranslatable even by a Cornish child, I have here tried to present
a few of these tales in simpler form, to suit not only Cornish children,
but those of all parts.
M.Q.C.
CONTENTS.
HOW CORINEUS FOUGHT THE CHIEF OF THE GIANTS.
THE GIANT OF ST. MICHAEL'S MOUNT.
THE LEGEND OF THE TAMAR, THE TAVY, AND THE TAW.
THE STRANGE STORY OF CHERRY HONEY.
THE FAIRIES ON THE GUMP.
THE FAIRY OINTMENT.
THE EXCITING ADVENTURE OF JOHN STURTRIDGE.
THE TRUE STORY OF ANNE AND THE FAIRIES.
BARKER AND THE BUCCAS.
LUTEY AND THE MERMAID.
THE WICKED SPECTRE.
THE STORY OF THE LOVERS' COVE.
THE SILVER TABLE.
CRUEL COPPINGER, THE DANE.
MADGE FIGGY, THE WRECKER.
HOW MADGE FIGGY GOT HER PIG.
THE STORY OF SIR TRISTRAM AND LA BELLE ISEULT.
HOW CORINEUS FOUGHT THE CHIEF OF THE GIANTS
Long, long ago, when Cornwall was almost a desert land, cold, bleak, and
poor, and inhabited only by giants, who had destroyed and eaten all the
smaller people, Brutus and Corineus came with a large Trojan army
intending to conquer England, or Albion as it was then called, and landed
at Plymouth for that purpose.
These two valiant chiefs had heard strange tales of the enormous size of
the people in that part of the island, so, like wise generals, before
venturing inland themselves, they sent parties of their men to explore,
and find out what they could of the inhabitants. The soldiers, who had
never heard anything about the giants, went off very full of glee, and
courage, thinking, from the miserable look of the country, that they had
only some poor half-starved, ignorant savages to hunt out, and subdue.
That was how they started out. They returned nearly scared to death,
rushing into camp like madmen, pursued by a troop of hideous monsters all
brandishing clubs as big as oak trees, and making the most awful noises
you can possibly imagine.
When, though, Brutus and Corineus saw these great creatures they were not
in the least frightened, for, you see, they had already heard about them.
So they quietly and quickly collected their army, reassured the terrified
men, and, before the giants knew what was happening, they marched upon
them, and assailed them vigorously with spears and darts.
The giants, who were really not at all brave men, were so frightened at
this attack, and at the pain caused by the arrows and spears,--weapons
they had never seen before,--that they very soon turned tail and ran for
their lives. They made direct for the Dartmoor hills, where they hoped to
find shelter and safe hiding-places, and indeed, all did manage to escape
except one, and that was the great Gogmagog, the captain, who was so badly
injured that he could not run.
When Gogmagog saw his cowardly companions all running away, and leaving
him to do the best he could for himself, he bellowed and bellowed with
rage and fear until the birds nearly dropped down from the sky with
fright. After a while, though, he began to think he had better stop
drawing attention to himself, and look about for a means of escape, and
this was no slight task, for he could scarcely move a step, and his great
big body was not at all easy to conceal. Indeed, the only means he could
see open to him was to lie down in one of the great ditches which lay here
and there all over the land, and trust to the darkness concealing him
until the soldiers had returned to camp.
Alas, though, for poor Gogmagog's plans, the moon was at the full, and
every place was almost as light as by day. The Trojan soldiers too were
so excited and pleased with their giant-hunting, that they could not bear
to give it up and return to camp until they had at least one giant to take
back as a trophy. So they prowled here, and prowled there, until at last
they caught sight of the great bulky body stretched out in the ditch.
Gogmagog, of course, had no chance of escape, he was surrounded and
captured, and bound, and the Trojans, rejoicing greatly, dragged him back
a prisoner to their camp on Plymouth Hoe. Here, although he was carefully
guarded, he was treated with great kindness, fed bountifully, and nursed
until his wounds were healed.
When at last he was quite recovered, Brutus, who was very anxious to come
to terms with the giants, discussed with him various ways of settling the
question they had come with their army to decide, namely, who should be
the possessor of the country. He proposed this plan, and that plan, and
the other, but none seemed to please Gogmagog, and while the general
talked and talked, and tried to come to terms, Gogmagog just sat stolidly
listening, and only opening his great mouth to disagree with the general's
proposal. The truth was, the giant had a great idea of his own cunning,
and he was trying to think of some way by which he could get the better of
the invaders, and yet avoid further battles and discharges of arrows.
"For," as he said, "you never knew where you were with they things.
They had done for you before you'd got time to turn round. Clubs or fists
he was equal to, but he didn't see no fun in they sharp little things that
stuck right into you, and wouldn't come out until they was cut out."
Thinking of clubs and fists reminded him of wrestling, which was practised
a great deal in Cornwall, even in those days, and very little anywhere
else.
"The very thing!" thought the wily giant, for it wasn't likely the Trojans
knew anything about it, and even if they did, they were only little bits
of chaps compared with himself and the other giants. So, after a time, he
proposed to Brutus that they should settle matters by "a scat to
wrastling," the best man, of course, to have the country.
Rather to Gogmagog's surprise Brutus agreed at once, and it was quickly
settled that the giant himself and the best man in the Trojan army should
be the two to try their skill. This man was Corineus, who accepted the
challenge instantly.
After this the day was soon fixed, and Gogmagog was allowed to send and
tell his friends, and bid them all come to Plymouth to witness the great
event. The giants, being assured that no arrows or spears would be used
against them, came with alacrity, and both they and the Trojans were in a
wild state of excitement which increased and increased as the great day
drew near.
At last the longed-for time arrived. A ring was formed on the Hoe, the
giants all sitting on one side, and the Trojans on the other, and the
struggle began.
Oh, it was a fine sight to see two such men pitted against each other,
the giant, the finest of his race, and the splendid, stalwart soldier,
the enormous strength of the one faced by the skill and coolness of the
other, to see them grapple each other and struggle for the mastery as
never men had struggled before in hand-to-hand warfare. Such a sight had
never been seen in Cornwall until that day, nor ever will be again.
It lasted long, and for long the result was doubtful.
"Th' little un can't hold out much longer, mun," cried one of the giants.
"Cap'en's only playing with un yet." But just at that very moment
Corineus, who was playing a very clever game, dashed in unexpectedly,
caught the giant by the girdle, and grasping it like a vice, shook the
astonished and breathless monster with all his might and main. The giant,
bewildered and gasping, swayed backwards and forwards at his mercy, at
first slightly, then more and more, as he failed to regain his balance,
until, gathering all his strength for one last effort, Corineus gave him
one tremendous push backwards, and sent him clean over, so that he
measured his great length upon the ground, and the country for miles round
shook with the force of his fall.
Gogmagog gave one awful groan, which sounded like thunder all over the
land, making the giantesses, who were left at home, exclaim nervously,
"Oh dear, oh dear, there must be an earthquake somewhere! How very
unsettled the country is!"
Gogmagog was so stunned and breathless with his fall, that for some time
he could not collect his wits, or get up again, so he lay there moaning
and puffing until his hard breathing had lashed the sea into fury.
The other giants were too frightened to speak or move, for they were quite
certain there was magic being used against them, for strength alone could
never have overthrown their 'Cap'en' like that, certainly not the strength
of 'a little whipper-snapper like that there Corinoos.'
While, though, they were staring open-mouthed, and the giant, never
expecting another attack, lay there still puffing and blowing, and trying
to think how he could get off facing his opponent again, Corineus had been
gathering up all his power to finish his task, and now, dashing in
suddenly on his foe, he seized him by the legs, and dragging him to the
edge of the cliff, he sent him, with one mighty push, rolling over and
over down the sides of the steep cliff into the sea below.
The fearful roar which broke from the giant's throat as he disappeared,
the crashing and thudding of his body as it dashed from point to point of
the jagged rocks, made even those hardened savages sicken and turn pale,
but worst of all was the crash with which he came to the bottom, where his
body struck a rock with such violence that it was dashed into a thousand
pieces, and his spouting blood dyed the sea crimson for miles and miles
around.
After that all turned away pale and sobered, the soldiers to their camp,
the giants to their homes, their cowardly hearts full of terror of these
new-comers, and the feasting they had promised themselves by way of
keeping up their victory was postponed indefinitely.
So ended the fight between the giant and the Trojan. It was not playing
the game, but the giants were too cowardly to demand revenge, or to
attempt to punish Corineus, and so the land and all in it fell to the
Trojans.
Later, when Brutus had conquered all Albion, and was dividing some of it
amongst his chiefs, Corineus begged that he might have the giant country,
for he loved hunting the great lumbering fellows, and turning them out of
their caves and hiding-places. So it was given to him, and he called it
Cornwall, because that was something like his own name, and in time he
cleared out all the giants, and in their stead there settled there an
honest, manly people, who worked and tilled the land, and dug up tin, and
did everything that was good, and honourable and industrious, and this is
the kind of people who live there still.
THE GIANT OF ST. MICHAEL'S MOUNT.
I am sure most of you have heard of St. Michael's Mount, the strange,
beautiful, mountain island, which rises up out of the sea down by
Penzance; a mountain island with a grand old castle crowning its summit,
and a picturesque group of cottages nestling at its base.
If you have not, you must coax your parents to take you down there for
your next summer holiday, then you will be able to see the Mount, and
visit it too. And when you are on it you must think to yourself, "Now I
am standing where the Giant Cormoran once stood."
You must look out over the sea, too, which surrounds the giant's Mount,
and try to picture to yourself a large forest in the place of it, and the
sea six long miles away, for that was how it was in Cormoran's time, until
one day the sea rose quite suddenly, a huge mountain of water, and rushing
over the six miles of land, covered it and the forests too, even above the
tops of the tallest trees. Everything for miles around was swallowed up,
except the Mount, which was saved by reason of its great height.
From that day to this the sea has never receded, and St. Michael's Mount
has remained an island, completely cut off from the mainland, except at
low tide, when you can, if you are quick, just manage to walk across.
Years before this, Cormoran had built up the Mount for a home for himself.
When first he came to the spot it was all forest, with one large white
rock in the midst of it. As he lay on this rock resting, he made up his
mind to build himself a hill here, all of white rocks, like the one on
which he reclined, where he could live in safety, and keep an eye on the
surrounding country.
It was a big task he had set himself, for all the blocks of granite of
which it was to be made, had to be brought from a neighbouring hill, those
close by being of the pink, or green, or grey kinds, and he would have
none of these. Perhaps he would have changed his mind about it had he had
to carry all the stone himself, but he, the great lazy fellow, made his
wife Cornelian fetch all the heaviest blocks, while he lay idly by and
watched her.
Cornelian, who thought the work was very hard indeed, did not see why the
green rocks would not do as well as the white, they would be even
prettier, in her opinion, so one day when her husband was asleep she
knocked off a great green rock, and picking it up in her apron, hurried
back as fast as she could to get it fixed in its place before he should
wake. She could not manage it though, poor soul, for just as she was
reaching her destination the giant opened his eyes, and as soon as he had
opened them he caught sight of the green rock she was carrying.
Then, oh, what a temper he was in at being disobeyed! He did not say
anything, but he got quietly up from his resting-place as soon as she had
passed, and followed her, but so softly that she did not notice anything
until he was close to her, when he gave her such a blow that she fell
staggering under it. Her apron-strings broke, down fell the green stone
to the ground, and there it has stayed from that day to this, for no human
power has been able to move it.
Cormoran was an old giant, and a very ugly one. He had only one eye, and
that was in the middle of his forehead; he had lost nearly all his teeth,
too. It would have been better for his appearance had he lost them quite
all, for those that were left were broken, jagged, and discoloured, and
were anything but ornamental. He was a perfect monster to look at, and,
oh, he was such a dreadful thief! All the people who lived anywhere near
him went in terror of him, for when he was hungry he would just cross to
the mainland, steal the very best cow or sheep in the neighbourhood,
sling it across his shoulders and go home with it. And as he was very
often hungry, the poor farmer folks were nearly eaten out of house and
home by the bad old giant.
On the Pengerswick estate near by, there were some particularly good
cattle, which Master Cormoran had taken a great fancy to, and to which he
helped himself pretty freely without ever being caught, or punished.
Of course, the more he stole the bolder he got, for having so often got
off scot-free, he grew to think he was always going to get off scot-free,
and that was where he made his mistake.
One day he took it into his head that he would very much like another
of these fine, choice animals, so picking up a rope he started off,
and wading across to Pengerswick Cove, landed there as usual, thinking he
was going to help himself without any trouble and be home again by
dinner-time.
It happened, though, that the Lord of Pengerswick had just returned from
the East, where he had been learning all sorts of magic and spells.
Cormoran, however, knew nothing of this, and if he had he would probably
only have laughed and sneered, and turned up his great nose in scorn,
for he believed in nothing but giants, and only in two of them,--himself,
and the Trecrobben Hill giant.
As Master Cormoran approached, the Lord of Pengerswick, who knew by means
of magic all about his coming, and knowing his thieving ways, determined
to punish the old thief for all the mischief he had done during his
absence. So he began at once to work his spells, meaning to give the
giant a very unpleasant time.
Cormoran, never dreaming of any trouble in store for him, landed as usual;
but, somehow, when he reached the Cove he did not feel very well, his head
felt muzzy and confused: he thought perhaps the sun had been too much for
him as he came along. Instead, too, of catching one of the cattle at
once, as usual, he had the works of the world to get one, the beasts
seemed as slippery as eels, and he was so dull in the head, he hardly knew
what he was about. However, after a great deal of trouble, and losing his
temper more than once, he managed to catch a fine calf, and tying its four
feet together, he slung it round his neck, and prepared to hurry back to
the Mount to have a good feast.
He walked, and he walked, and he walked as fast as his feet could carry
him, but though he went very quickly, and it was really no distance back
to the Cove, he somehow could not get any nearer to the end of his
journey; the path seemed all strange to him, too, and for the life of him
he could not tell where he was.
At last, when he was so tired that he was ready to drop, he came in sight
of a great black rock in Pengerswick Cove. It was a rock he did not
remember seeing before, and thinking he was once again on the wrong path
he turned to go back. But this, he found to his surprise, was what he
could not do. The rock, as if by magic, was drawing him nearer and
nearer. It was like a magnet, and struggle as he would, he could not keep
away from it. He tried to turn round, he tried to draw back, he even lay
down on the ground and dug his heels with all his strength into the sand.
But still he felt himself being drawn on and on until he actually touched
the rock, and the moment he touched it he found to his horror that he was
fastened to it as though by iron bands.
Oh, how he struggled to get free, how he twisted and turned, and kicked!
All in vain, though. He might as well have lain still and gone to sleep
for all the good he did. By degrees, too, he felt himself growing more
and more helpless, he could not move hand or foot, he grew colder and
stiffer, and stiffer and colder, until at last he was as if turned to
stone, except that his senses were more acute than ever they had been
before. To add to his torments, too, the calf which he had slung across
his shoulders, struggled and kicked and bellowed until the old thief was
black and blue, and nearly deafened. He was nearly scared to death, too,
for fear someone would hear the creature's noise, and come in search of
it, to find out what was the matter.
He tried and tried to throw off his burden, but nothing would loosen it,
and all the night long he had to bear the bleating and the bellowing in
his ear, and the incessant kicking and butting, for, for the whole of the
night the giant had to remain there; and probably he would have been there
for the rest of his life, had not the Lord of Pengerswick thought he would
like to have some more fun with him.
Early in the morning the Enchanter mounted his horse and rode down to the
Cove to have a look at Master Cormoran, and to give him a piece of his
mind before he removed the spell and let him go, and a piece of something
else as well! Cormoran quaked when he saw the old lord coming, for he
looked every bit as angry as he really was, and first he lashed the giant
with his tongue, and then he lashed him with his whip, and he flogged him
and flogged him until in his agony Cormoran kicked and struggled so hard
that he broke away from the rock and leaped right into the sea.
This was the way the Enchanter removed the spell!
Once free from that terrible rock, Cormoran soon reached home, but the
lesson he had had was one that he never forgot, and he never troubled that
part of the country again, so the people all around had good cause to
thank the Lord of Pengerswick. Poor Cornelian, his wife, had a sad time
of it, though, for so sore was the giant from his beating, and so angry
and mortified, that his temper became something worse than ever.
Indeed, I cannot find words to describe it.
Poor Cornelian herself was very kind and good-tempered, and a very
hard-working giantess, and she was very much to be pitied for having such
a disagreeable, grumpy old husband. Cornelian, though, had one great
fault, and that was that she was very, very inquisitive. I do not know
that she ever did any harm to anyone but herself by it. It brought about
her own death, though, in a very dreadful manner. And this was how it
was.
Cormoran and the Trecrobben Hill giant were very friendly and neighbourly
one with the other, and they used to borrow and lend to each other any
little thing they happened to want, just as ordinary people do who are on
very good terms with one another.
One day Cormoran was wanting the cobbling-hammer to mend his boots,
but the hammer was up at Trecrobben's,--they only had one between them.
So he went out and shouted, "Halloa, up there! Hi! Trecrobben, throw us
down the cobblen hammer, wust-a?" They always threw across to each other
what they wanted.
"To be sure," called back Trecrobben; "here, look out and catch un!"
Hearing a lot of noise and shouting, Cornelian must needs bustle out to
find out what it was all about, and running from the dark house to the
bright sunshine, her eyes were so dazzled, she did not see the great
hammer coming hurtling through the air, as it did at that very moment, and
whack! crack! it caught her a terrible blow right between the eyes, even
crashing in the mighty bone of her forehead.
Down she fell with a groan right at her husband's feet, and when he turned
her over she was as dead as the fatal hammer itself! Then what a to-do
there was! The two giants wept and roared over the corpse, they wrung
their hands and tore their hair, but it was all of no use, they could not
bring poor Cornelian back to life again. Their sighs and groans only
wrecked a ship or two out at sea, and blew the roofs off some houses at
Market Jew. So they stopped, and set to work to bury poor Cornelian.
They thought it best to get her out of sight as quickly as possible,
it made them weep so to see her lying there dead.
Where they laid her, though, no one knows. Some say it was in the court
of the castle, others that they lifted Chapel Rock and put her under; but
there are others who say that they only rolled her over the edge of the
cliffs and into the sea! You will always, though, find some people ready
to say unkind things about everyone.
Cormoran himself met his death some years later at the hands of Jack the
Giant-Killer, but as you probably know that story, I will not repeat it
here.
THE LEGEND OF THE TAMAR, THE TAVY, AND THE TAW.
In the days when fairies, giants, and witches, gnomes and piskies, and
dwarfs, and all the other Big People and Little People dwelt on the land
or under it, there lived in a huge cavern, deep, deep down in the heart of
the earth, two gnomes, husband and wife, busy, practical little people,
who spent their lives digging and delving in the very bowels of the earth.
They had no cravings for a more beautiful life, no desire to see the
sunshine, the flowers, the green grass, or the wide blue sea. They wanted
nothing better, or beyond the life which had always been theirs.
To them, though, there was sent a little daughter, whom they called
Tamara. She was a lovely, golden-haired sprite, as unlike her parents as
the sun the night, and they were filled with happiness and pride, and
wonder of her beauty.
When Tamara was old enough, they would have set her to work with them, but
Tamara did not like the cold, dark cavern, or the silence and bareness of
her underground home. She was an earth-loving child, and had a passion
for the upper world, whither she would escape as often as she possibly
could, for the sun, the flowers, the birds, the happy life which
surrounded her up there, were a never-failing joy to her.
Her parents scolded and scolded; they warned her that the earth was full
of giants, and if she were captured by one of them, nothing could save
her; but she paid no heed to them at all, for she did not know what fear
was, she could not believe that anyone could harm her. And they had
petted and humoured her, and allowed her her own way in so many things,
she did not see why she should not do as she liked in this.
She hated the cold, gloomy underground, so why should she stay there,
she argued, and she ran away more and more to the upper world, and spent
her days in roaming over the moors chasing the birds and butterflies, or,
when she was tired, lying on a bank of moss and ferns, gazing up at the
glorious sun, and basking in its kindly warmth.
At length one day, Tawridge and Tavy, sons of two Dartmoor giants, met
sweet Tamara as she was wandering amongst the furze and bracken, and
straightway fell in love with her. They had only seen giantesses up to
that time, who, though very fine and striking in appearance, are never
pretty, and these two young giants had never in their lives seen anything
so delicate and so lovely as Tamara, or dreamed that it was possible that
such beautiful maidens could exist.
Straightway each of them lost his great big heart to the dainty maiden,
and could not bear to lose sight of her. So afraid were they that she
would vanish, and they would never see her again, that they followed her
far and wide over the moor, trying to coax her to come and talk with them.
But Tamara, like a laughing, mischievous sprite, ran from them laughing,
led them over moor and river, always evading them, never letting them
reach her. The more though that she tantalized and teased them, the more
the poor fellows loved her, and they sighed for her until their great
hearts were like to break.
One morning, Tamara got away earlier than usual from her cavern home.
She awoke long before her parents, and after gazing for some time at the
darkness which filled the cave, and shivering in the chill, damp air,
she thought of the upper world where the morning sun would be shining on
the dewy grass, and the birds be singing their first glad song; and as she
pictured it all the longing to be up there grew stronger than she could
bear. She rose quietly, and without disturbing her parents, left her home
for the last time.
In the upper world all was as she had pictured it, and lost in the joy and
beauty of it, Tamara wandered on and on until she came to a place called
Morwenstow, and a dainty little pool in the hollow of a rock. The sun was
so warm, and the pool so lovely, Tamara felt she must step into it; so,
laying aside her robe, she played and swam about in the fresh clear water
until she was quite tired out, when she dressed herself in her robe again,
and shaking her long golden locks to dry them, she lay down under the
shelter of a hawthorn-bush, and soon fell fast asleep.
Ah me! how sweet she looked, with her delicate cheeks so rosy after her
bathe, her lovely lashes resting on them, her cloud of golden hair spread
all about her! and so thought Tavy and Tawridge when they came along and
found her! At the sight of her they stood speechless with admiration, but
the great stupid fellows were as quiet and careful not to waken her as
fairies would have been. They just sat down near her and gazed and gazed
at her with great faithful dog-like eyes.
Presently a thrush began to sing hard by, and with a little stretch and a
sleepy sigh Tamara opened her big blue eyes. When she caught sight of her
guardians and captors, she broke into a little rippling laugh and sprang
to her feet, but this time she could not escape.
"Do not leave us," they pleaded. "We will not hurt you, Tamara. We may
be big and ugly, but we have good hearts. Have pity on us, lovely one,
for you know how we worship you, and how our lives are spent in seeking
you. Such a love for you fills our hearts we know no rest away from you."
They pleaded long and earnestly, those two love-stricken giants, they
called her by every sweet and endearing name that they could think of,
and Tamara listened, and made no further attempt to run away.
Their devotion pleased her, it was so new and strange, and she loved to
feel her power. So the morning sped away.
Deep down in the dark earth, the industrious little gnomes paused in their
labours and wondered where Tamara was. "She does not often stay so long,"
said the mother; "I trust no harm has befallen her."
"What a trouble she is to us!" said the father, growing angry because he
was alarmed. "We should be glad we have no more children, or we should
have to spend all our time looking after them, to see they came to no
harm. We should never have time for our work, and never know peace of
mind."
"Yes, yes," said the mother impatiently, "but Tamara! Where can she be?
The earth is full of giants, and I am full of fears. I cannot rest,
I must go and seek her, and you must come too. She is so beautiful, and
so thoughtless and full of life."
So they mounted to the upper world, and began their weary search for their
naughty little daughter; and by and by they found her seated on a couch of
sweet, soft heather, between the two giants. They were still telling her
of their love for her,--there was so much, it took long to tell,--and
beseeching her to choose one of them for her own faithful lover.
The father gnome was very much alarmed at this sight, for what could he,
no taller than a tulip, do against two such monstrous creatures?
Their thumbs alone were as big as his whole body. All that was left to be
done was to appeal to Tamara, and each in turn, and both together, the
father and mother begged and commanded their runaway child to return to
her home.
But Tamara was as obstinate as could be. "No, I want to stay here,"
she said, "these good boys love me, and they will break their hearts when
I leave them. You would not have me make them so unhappy, would you?
I want, too, to hear all about their country and their people, for I love
it, and I love them, and I hate the cold, dark cavern, with its eternal
work, work, work!" Then she turned entreatingly to the giants, "You will
not let me be taken back, will you?" she cried, her beautiful eyes full of
appealing.
"No, no!" they cried joyfully, "we will take care of you, little Tamara."
Even, though, as they spoke, a deep sleep fell upon them. The gnome,
thoroughly angry, had cast a spell upon them, and poor Tamara saw herself
in an instant deprived of both her protectors. She was deeply mortified,
but more determined than ever not to go back to her dark, gloomy home.
No pleadings, or coaxings, or commands had any power to move her.
Her mother appealed to her, her father scolded, all in vain. Anger was
roused on both sides, until at length in ungovernable rage the father
cursed his daughter, and as his curse fell on her, the weeping girl was
changed into a crystal stream, which soon became a river; a beautiful,
rapid river, for ever winding its way with a low, sad murmur, in storm or
sunshine, through the land she loved so well, on and on to the great salt
ocean.
The angry parents, heartbroken and desolate, had returned to their lonely
home, and Tamara, with low, sad sighs, was fleeing further and further
from her sleeping lovers, when Tavy at last awoke. He sat up and glared
around him, too dazed to realize at first all that had happened.
He looked at Tawridge, lying fast asleep, and recollection began to
return,--he looked for Tamara,--she was gone!
In a frenzy of fear lest he should have lost his new-found love for ever,
he rushed hither and thither, wildly searching for her,--but, of course,
in vain.
"Tamara! Tamara!" he called despairingly; no answer came. No sound
reached him but the sweet, sad voice of a stream hard by, a stream he did
not remember to have heard before. He was too full of his troubles,
though, to pay heed to such trifles now.
Flying as fast as the wind to his father amongst the hills, he told him
his pitiful tale, but the giant already knew all that had happened, for he
had powers his son had not.
"My boy," he said sadly, "your Tamara is gone. Cruelly taken from you.
I cannot bring her back to you, but I can send you to her. Grieved I
shall be to lose my son, but I cannot keep you here and see your life
filled with endless pain." Then the old giant kissed his son, and as he
kissed him he turned him into a stream, which, noisy and turbulent as poor
Tavy himself had been of old, rushed madly on over rock and moor, seeking
his lost love. Wildly he dashed ahead, seeking to overtake her, until at
last in a gentle valley where she loitered slowly, he came upon her, and,
happy that they had met at last, hand in hand they glided softly onwards
to the eternal sea.
During all this time poor Tawridge slept on, dreaming of Tamara, that she
was his, and nothing could part them; but alas, alas for his waking!
He opened his eyes and found it was but a dream! Tamara was gone,
Tavy was gone, and he was left alone.
"They have gone together!" was his first thought, but then he remembered
the arrival of the father and mother, and his second thought was that
Tamara had been taken back to her home by her parents, and that Tavy had
killed himself in despair. And Tawridge was filled with a double grief,
for he had really loved poor Tavy.
In the hills there lived an Enchanter, and to him Tawridge ran for help,
and of him he learnt the truth,--that both were lost to him, and were
together. The knowledge drove him to frenzy. Without a thought for his
father or mother, or anyone else who loved him, he begged and implored the
Enchanter to turn him into a stream too, that he might follow the others
and overtake them, and once again be with his lost love, or near her.
At last the old Enchanter consented, and Tawridge was turned into a
swiftly flowing river; and there his troubles might have ended, and the
three friends have been reunited, but, as he was going back, Tawridge
mistook the way, and, instead of flowing towards the sea with Tamara and
Tavy, he rushed on wildly seeking them in the wrong direction. Calling to
them with heartbroken cries and moans, he hurried faster and faster in his
longing to overtake them, but always in the wrong direction, ever and ever
flowing farther from them, never to meet his lost love again.
To this day the Tamar and the Tavy run always side by side, and the Taw,
still sighing and moaning sadly, rushes in the opposite direction, and
never can the enchantment be removed from Tamara and her lovers, until we,
having grown better and wiser, become friends again with the Big People
and the Little People we have driven from us by our ignorance and narrow
minds.
THE STRANGE STORY OF CHERRY HONEY.
Cherry Honey, with her father and mother, and a half-score of brothers and
sisters, lived in a little hut at Trereen, in the parish of Zennor.
They were very poor people, terribly poor, for all they had to live on was
what they could get out of a few acres of ground that they owned,--ground
as barren as any you could find thereabouts, and that is saying a good
deal. For food they lived mostly on fish and potatoes, except on Sundays,
when they had pork, and the broth it was boiled in; and twice a year, at
Christmas and Feast-day, they had, as a great luxury, white bread.
Whether fish and potatoes make people strong, or whether the air at
Trereen was specially good, I can't tell, but sure enough it is that all
Tom Honey's children grew up into fine, handsome men and women, and not
one weakly one amongst them.
They were a lively crew too, as merry as grigs in spite of the cold and
the hunger that they felt pretty often, and the liveliest and merriest of
the lot was Cherry. She was full of pranks and mischief, and led the
others a pretty life. When the miller's boy came to know if they wanted
to send any corn to be ground, Cherry would slip out, mount his horse,
which he left fastened up close by, and off she would go, racing as hard
as she could go all along the very edge of the cliff, and away to the
Downs, the miller's boy racing and yelling after her, but he might as well
have tried to catch a will-o'-the-wisp.
So Cherry went on very happily, working very hard and playing too, until
she reached the age of sixteen or so, when she began to feel a wish to see
more life than that lonely moor provided, and have a change from the tiny
hut which could not hold a half of them comfortably. She wanted a new
gown too, her mother had promised it to her ever since she was thirteen,
and she had looked forward to it even more than she did to Feasten-Sunday,
for she had never had a new frock in her life. She could not enjoy
Feasten-Sunday either, unless she was dressed as nicely as other girls.
Year after year, though, she was disappointed, there was no money and no
new dress, and poor Cherry had to content herself with a clean apron over
her shabby old frock, which had been patched and mended until there was
only one piece of the original left, and no one but Cherry herself could
have told which that was.
She was not fit to go to church or to fair, and she felt it very hard that
she could never enjoy herself. And then, to make matters worse, her great
friend Tamsin Bray, who was a year younger than Cherry, had a beautiful
frock all trimmed with ribbons, and she wore it to Nancledry to the
preaching there, and had a fine time there, full of adventures and new
experiences, as she took care to tell poor Cherry when she came back,
making Cherry feel more dissatisfied than ever. She knew she was a
prettier girl than Tamsin, and would get more admiration if she only had
the chance.
After that Cherry could no longer go on bearing things as they were.
If her mother couldn't buy her a new frock, she would go to work, and earn
one for herself, she determined. So she told her parents she was going to
look for a situation, and nothing they could say could make her change her
mind, so they gave up trying to.
"Why don't 'ee try and get a place down to Towednack?" asked her mother,
who wanted her not to go far from home.
"Iss, fay, mother," answered Cherry sharply, "a likely tale I'm going to
live in a place where the cow ate the bell-rope, and where they've nothing
but fish and taties all the year round, except Sundays, when they have
conger-pie! Dear no, I'm going where I can get butcher's meat sometimes,
and a bit of saffern cake when I wants it!"
So Cherry packed up her few garments, which made but a very small bundle,
and started off, after promising her father not to go too far, and to come
home soon. She had been so restless and uneasy, that the poor man thought
she was bewitched, or something. He feared, too, that she might get
carried off by pirates, for there were many of them about Cornwall in
those days, and Cherry was an attractive-looking girl, and rather flighty,
as her mother often said.
When Cherry had said 'good-bye' and kissed them all, and got outside, she
had not the slightest notion which way to go, so she took the road to
Ludgvan and Gulval, and walked on briskly enough for a time; but when she
turned round for a last look at the old home, and found that it was no
longer in sight, she felt so miserable that she had a very good mind to
turn round and go back. It was the first time she had ever been away,
and she felt very home-sick and lonesome. Indeed, the outlook was enough
to damp her spirits and even frighten her, for she had no friends to go
to, nor a situation. She did not even know where she should find shelter
that night, and she had only one penny in her pocket. However, she
started on again, and trudged along the lonely road until she came to the
four cross-roads on the Lady Downs.
Here she paused again, and rested while she tried to make up her mind
which of the four roads she should take. All around her the Downs
stretched, looking bleak and wild; and all the stories she had ever heard
of highwaymen and pirates, witches and fairies, came rushing
helter-skelter through her poor brain until she felt too terrified to walk
on or to turn back; and at last she sat down on a big stone by the side of
the road and burst out crying.
She did cry too, most bitterly, and never stopped until she had made up
her mind to retrace her steps, and go home as fast as she could go.
Having settled that, she felt much happier, and drying her eyes she
started up, only too anxious to get out of that great wilderness.
She wondered if her brothers and sisters would laugh at her. Yes, she
felt sure that they would, but she did not care, she told herself.
She would soon play them some trick that would make them laugh the other
side of their faces. Her father and mother would welcome her back gladly,
she knew.
So she turned her face towards home, and was trying not to feel ashamed of
her want of pluck,--when she saw a gentleman on the road just ahead of
her, and walking towards her. She was astonished, and just a little
alarmed, for a moment before there was not a soul to be seen. She was so
astonished that she quite forgot her manners, and stood staring and
staring at the gentleman until he had come quite close to her. Then he
stared hard at Cherry, but it was not a rude stare, and he took off his
hat so politely, and smiled so pleasantly, that Cherry was quite
impressed.
"Can you tell me the way to Towednack?" he asked in a voice as pleasant as
his smile.
"Yes, sir," answered Cherry, curtseying. "If you'll please to walk a
little way with me, sir, I'll put you in the right road."
The gentleman thanked her, and as he walked along beside her, he asked
which way she was going, and where she lived, and he was so kind and had
such a pleasant way with him, that Cherry had soon told him her history,
and how she had left home to go to look for a 'place,' and how she had
felt so lonesome on the Downs, and so home-sick, that she had changed her
mind and was going straight back again.
"Well, this is strange!" exclaimed the gentleman. "Of all the good luck
this is the greatest! I have come out to-day to see if I can find a good
active girl in one of the villages, for I want a servant; and here I find
just what I am looking for, a handsome, sharp young woman, cleanly and
honest."
He could judge for himself what sort of a girl Cherry was, by her
appearance, and her clean, well-mended frock.
He went on to tell her that he was a widower with one little boy, for whom
he wanted a nurse, and would Cherry come and take the post?
He talked for a long time very earnestly and winningly. Cherry did not
understand a half that he said, but she understood enough to make her feel
that this would be a better situation for her than she had ever dreamed of
getting, and before very long she consented to go.
The gentleman seemed very pleased, and away they started together at once,
the stranger talking very fast all the time, and making himself so
entertaining that Cherry never noticed how far they were going, nor in
what direction.
They walked through such beautiful lanes that it was quite a pleasure to
be in them, hung as they were with honeysuckles and roses, and many other
beautiful flowers, such as Cherry rarely saw anywhere near her bleak home.
By and by the light began to fail, which rather surprised Cherry, who had
no idea the day was so far gone. She had no watch or means of telling the
time, so she supposed it was all right, and that she had sat crying longer
than she thought. Presently they came to a river, and Cherry wondered how
she should cross it, for it had grown so dark by that time she could not
see stepping-stones, or bridge, or anything.
However, while she was wondering, the gentleman just picked her up in his
arms and carried her across, and then on they walked again. They went
down, down and down a very steep lane now, a lane which got narrower and
narrower, and was so steep and long, Cherry thought it would never end.
Not that she minded much, for she did not feel tired, and the gentleman
had given her his arm, that she might not stumble, and she felt so excited
and happy she could have walked on through the sweet-scented darkness for
ever.
She had not much further to go, though, for presently they came to a gate
which the gentleman opened. "This is your new home, Cherry," he said
kindly, and Cherry found herself suddenly in the most beautiful garden you
can imagine. It was full of lovely flowers and luscious fruits, while
flitting about everywhere, or perching on the trees, were birds of all
sizes and colours, tiny blue birds, large scarlet birds, some that flashed
like silver, and gold, and beaten copper, in the sunlight. For oddly
enough the sun was shining brightly in the garden, though it had long been
dark outside.
Cherry stood and stared about her in open-eyed amazement. "Dear, dear,"
she thought to herself, "'tis just like the fairy-tales Gammer tells us
winter evenings!" and she began to wonder if she could have got into an
enchanted place, and if she should presently see fairies, or enchanted
people there. But no, it could not be any fairy-tale, for there was her
new master standing by her as big as Farmer Chenoweth, and down the path
came running a little boy, calling "Papa! papa!" just as any ordinary
mortal child would.
Though, as Cherry said afterwards, there was something uncanny about the
child, for he had such an odd, old face and expression, and eyes as
cunning as might be, and so bright and piercing they seemed to look you
through and through; yet he appeared to be no more than four years old.
Before the child could reach them, an old woman came running out after
him, and seizing him by the arm dragged him roughly back to the house.
She was a bony, ill-tempered looking old woman, and before she retired,
grumbling at the child and shaking him, she favoured Cherry with such an
evil glance that the poor girl felt more than half inclined to turn and
run right away.
"That's my late wife's grandmother," explained the widower; "she is a
cross-grained old catamaran, and the reason she eyed you so unpleasantly
is that she knows I have brought you here to take her place. Make haste
and learn your work, Cherry, for I want to send the cross old dame about
her business," which was hardly a respectful way in which to speak of his
grandmother-in-law.
He took Cherry into the house, which was even more beautiful than the
garden; brilliant light, like sunshine, lighted up every room, flowers
grew everywhere, mirrors and pictures lined the walls, and as for the
ornaments, the carpets, curtains and other beautiful things, you could
never believe what their beauty was unless you could see them.
"It is all so grand," said Cherry to herself, "'tis too much to take in
all at once. It makes my head swim, and I'd like something to eat for a
change." She was really very, very hungry, for she had had nothing to eat
all day but a slice of bread and treacle.
Hardly had the thought come into her head, when Aunt Prudence,--as the old
grandmother was called,--began to lay a table with all kinds of delicious
food, to which she bade Cherry sit down and eat.
Cherry did not require a second bidding, you may be quite sure, nor did
she stop until she had made a very good meal indeed. After that she was
told her duties. She was to sleep in the room with the child, and in the
morning to take him and bathe him in a spring in the garden. After she
had bathed him she was to anoint his eyes with some ointment she would
find in a little box in a cleft in the rock. She was to be very careful
indeed to put the little box back where she took it from, and on no
account to touch her own eyes with it. After that was all done she was to
milk the cow, and give the child a basin of the last milk she drew.
You can imagine how all this raised Cherry's curiosity, and how she longed
to get the little boy to tell her about everything, but, as he always
threatened to tell Aunt Prudence, directly she asked him a question,
she thought it better to hold her tongue, and try to find out things for
herself.
When she had been told all her duties, she was conducted to her room by
the old lady, who bade her keep her eyes shut, whether she was asleep or
not, or she might wish too late that she had. She forbade her, too, to
talk to the child about anything. So Cherry was rather frightened by the
time she got to bed, and until she fell asleep she kept her eyes and her
mouth fast closed, but fortunately, thanks to her tiring day and her good
supper, she did not stay awake long.
The next morning as soon as she was awake she got up and began her work,
but when she had bathed the boy in the stream to which he led her, and had
put the ointment on his eyes, she did not know how to set about her next
task, for there was not a cow to be seen anywhere.
"Call her," said the boy, when she told him her trouble. So Cherry
called, "Coo-o, coo-o, coo-o-o," just as she did at home, and at once a
pretty sleek cow came from somewhere,--it might have been out of the
ground, as far as Cherry could tell. Anyhow, there she was, and Cherry
sat down and milked her, and gave the boy his breakfast, and when she had
done the cow walked away again and disappeared.