FALMOUTH AND TRURO
About a century since Lord Byron was at Falmouth, waiting a favourable
wind that would enable the sailing of the Lisbon packet. He seems to
have been detained here about a week, during which time he made
characteristic observations and embodied them in a letter to his
friend Hodgson. With some sportive malice there was evidently a spice
of truth in his remarks. He tells his friend that Falmouth "is
defended on the sea side by two castles, St. Maws and Pendennis,
extremely well calculated for annoying everybody except an enemy. St.
Maws is garrisoned by an able-bodied person of fourscore, a widower.
He has the whole command and sole management of six most unmanageable
pieces of ordnance, admirably adapted for the destruction of
Pendennis, a like tower of strength on the opposite side of the
channel. We have seen St. Maws, but Pendennis they will not let us
behold, because Hobhouse and I are suspected of having already taken
St. Maws by a _coup-de-main_. The town contains many quakers and salt
fish--the oysters have a taste of copper, owing to the soil of a
mining country; the women (blessed be the Corporation therefor!) are
flogged at the cart's tail when they pick and steal, as happened to
one of the fair sex yesterday noon. She was pertinacious in her
behaviour, and damned the mayor." One might have expected that he
would at least have had a word for the town's beauty of position and
for its magnificent harbour; but such things were features that he
usually ignored in his letters, and his avoidance of the poetical
always amounted to an affectation. Defoe, who had been here about
eighty years earlier, found something to say about the harbour as
being, "next to Milford Haven, the fairest and best road for shipping
that is in the whole isle of Britain." Of Falmouth itself he says that
"it is by much the richest and best trading town in this county,
though not so ancient as its neighbour town of Truro." Truro might
have the honour, but "Falmouth has gotten the trade." He says further
that "Falmouth is well built, has abundance of shipping, is full of
rich merchants, and has a flourishing and increasing trade. I say
'increasing,' because by the late setting up the English packets
between this port and Lisbon, there is a new commerce between Portugal
and this town carried on to a very great value." The origin of this
trading, he suggests, was very much assisted by a species of
export-smuggling, whereby British manufactures were carried from
England to Portugal without paying custom at either end. But the
custom-house soon put an end to this, or at least greatly modified it.
Among other notable visitors it is interesting to remember that
Disraeli was here in his younger days, in 1830, detained before
starting on his own somewhat Byronic voyage to the Mediterranean; he
found the town "one of the most charming places I ever saw." In
days when Falmouth was a port-of-call for nearly every outward-bound
vessel, many another distinguished traveller must have put in here and
explored the town while the ship waited its sailing orders; but it
must be confessed that the records of such visits are rather scanty,
and the literary or other associations of Falmouth are not of the
richest. There are some, however, that claim a mention; and although
Falmouth as a town can boast of no antiquity, yet this noble estuary
of the Fal lies in a centre that must have witnessed many remarkable
scenes forgotten by history, and as early as man began to trust
himself to the waters its harbourage must have had a profound value
and significance.
[Illustration: ON THE RIVER FAL.
_Photo by Gibson & Sons._]
Long before men had begun to speak of Falmouth, except by applying
that name to the estuary of the river, the headland on the western
side of the river-mouth was known as Pendinas, now Pendennis; it was
evidently entrenched, for its Celtic name means the "headland
fortress." There was a settlement at Penmerryn, or Penmarin, now
Penryn; and the spot on which Falmouth stands appears to have been
known as _Pen-y-cwm_, the "head of the valley," to which the syllable
_quic_ was added, thus forming the familiar Penny-come-quick, for
which it has been easy to find a plausible but erroneous derivation.
If this _quic_ is merely a corruption of _wick_, meaning dwelling or
village, it would be obvious that Saxon influence had been at work
here, as in the other old name for Falmouth, Smithic or Smethic,
interpreted as Smith-wick. But we know very little with certainty
about the place until the Arwenack manor was acquired by the
Killigrews, through marriage with its heiress, which seems to have
been somewhere about 1385, though some of the rather confused records
tend to show that the Killigrews had connection with Arwenack earlier
than this. The family came from Killigrew, meaning a "grove of
eagles," in the parish of St. Erme, and they had everything to do with
the founding and prosperity of early Falmouth, championing it against
the rival claims and animosity of Penryn and Truro. There has been
some attempt to prove that Gyllyngvase, which is the present Falmouth
bathing-place, was the scene of the burial of Prince William, son of
Henry I., who was drowned off Barfleur, to his father's lasting
sorrow; the supposition being that Gyllyng was a corruption of
William. This seems purely imaginary; there is nothing to show that
William's body was ever recovered, and if it had been brought to
England his father would certainly not have let it be buried in this
far-distant and lonely spot. We must probably go to the Celtic for the
derivation of Gyllyngvase. One of the Killigrews erected a fort on
Pendinas, which, under the sanction or by the command of Henry VIII.,
was expanded into Pendennis Castle, which it is said that king
visited. In 1552, on his return from the expedition to Guiana, Sir
Walter Raleigh was entertained at Arwenack, and was much struck by the
fine naval capabilities of Falmouth Harbour, laying the matter before
James I., and gaining that monarch's countenance for the Killigrews'
views for the furtherance of Falmouth in spite of the opposition of
its neighbours.
During the Civil War Pendennis Castle was held for the King by its
aged and gallant governor, John Arundel, and it afforded brief
shelter both to the fugitive Charles II. and to his mother, the Queen
Henrietta Maria. The Sheriff of Cornwall, who saw her at this time,
described her as "the woefullest spectacle my eyes ever yet look'd on;
the most worne and weake pitifull creature in the world, the poore
Queene shifting for one hour's liffe longer." She escaped to France,
adverse winds preventing her capture by the Parliamentary fleet. It
was in the following year that the young King took refuge at
Pendennis, before he sought an asylum at Scilly; the approach of
Fairfax warned him to fly in time. Then followed one of the most
strenuous sieges of the war, John Arundel, "John for the King,"
defending the place for about six months, and only surrendering on
honourable terms, when there was only one salted horse left as
provision. This brave old defender was in his eighty-seventh year. Two
hundred sick persons were left behind when the garrison marched out,
under the stipulation that none of them should be compelled thereafter
to fight against their king; and it is said that many died from eating
too heartily after their prolonged famine. Lord Clarendon tells us
that "the castle refused all summons, admitting no treaty, till they
had not victual for twenty-four hours, when they carried on the treaty
with such firmness that their situation was never suspected, and they
obtained as good terms as any garrison in England." Pendennis was the
last stronghold, with the exception of Raglan, to hold out for the
Royalist cause; and it was fitting that this most gallant defence and
dignified surrender should be placed to the credit of loyal Cornwall.
It tallies with the brave struggle of the previous century, on behalf
of the old faith and the old tongue. We may not wish that either
struggle had terminated differently, but they were both in keeping
with the tenacious character of the Cornish people. As a striking
proof of their desperate resolution, the defenders of Pendennis
themselves fired the manor-house of Arwenack, in order that it might
not be occupied by the Parliamentary troops, and these had to be
content with such trenches and defences as they could contrive from
the ruins. The mansion was never suitably restored, and there are only
a few relics of it to be seen at the present day in Arwenack Street.
Its beautiful avenue became a rope-walk, and the site of its park is
covered with buildings. Charles II. was not specially notable for
remembering those who had assisted him in the day of his
trouble--indeed, there were a great many for him to remember; but it
is pleasant to know that the son of the defender of Pendennis was
created a peer at the Restoration, while one of the Killigrews became
a baronet, and a charter of incorporation was granted to the infant
town. It was enacted that the settlements hitherto known as "Smithike
and Penny-come-quick" should become a corporate town under the name of
Falmouth. Sir Peter Killigrew had already obtained from the
Commonwealth a patent for a weekly market and two fairs, together with
the rights of ferry to Flushing; and the custom-house had been removed
to Falmouth from Penryn. In 1661 a quay was authorised, and two years
later a church was erected, with a dedication to King Charles the
Martyr. However incongruous such a dedication may now seem, it had
great significance at the time. By dint of effort, also, Falmouth was
created a distinct parish, freed from St. Budock and St. Gluvias. All
these steps were taken in face of much opposition, and against the
influence of Robartes, Arundels, and Godolphins, who supported Truro,
Helston, and Penryn in petitioning that "the erecting of a town at
Smithike would tend to the ruin and impoverishing of the ancient
coinage towns and market-towns aforesaid, not far distant from thence;
and they therefore humbly prayed the King's Majesty that the buildings
and undertakings of Mr. Killigrew might be inhibited for the future."
Such had been an earlier petition to James I., and the same spirit of
opposition pursued every development of the young town. Strife and
litigation pursued the Killigrews unremittingly, until the extinction
of the family in the direct line, somewhere about the middle of the
eighteenth century. There is one great literary glory attaching to
them. It was to Mistress Anne Killigrew that Dryden wrote his noble
elegiac ode, which Dr. Johnson thought the finest in the language.
With the dignity and melody that distinguished Dryden at his best, he
apostrophises the lady as one who had herself courted the muses of
poetry and painting--
"Hear then a mortal Muse thy praise rehearse
In no ignoble verse,
But such as thy own voice did practise here,
When thy first fruits of poesy were given,
To make thyself a welcome inmate there;
While yet a young probationer
And candidate of heaven."
The ode was addressed to Anne, daughter of Dr. Henry Killigrew, born
in 1660, who died of smallpox in 1685; she was a Maid-of-Honour to
the Duchess of York. A volume of her poems appeared in the following
year, with Dryden's ode as an introduction. In painting she seems to
have done portraits of James II. and his queen. She was buried at St.
John the Baptist, Savoy. It is Dryden's verse, and not her own, that
has immortalised her.
There is no need to follow in detail the somewhat unexciting tale of
Falmouth's growth. Its one event of national moment was the selection
of the port, in 1688, for the sailings of the Mail Packet service,
which proved to be of immediate consequence both to Falmouth and
Flushing, as the families of captains and crews soon chose one or
other of those places for residence, thereby bringing prosperity and a
keen rivalry. The story of the packets is very notable, and has been
worthily told by Mr. A. H. Norway. We may assume that it was one of
Mr. Norway's ancestors who lost his life while gallantly defending his
packet, the _Montague_, from the attack of an American privateer. At
first only three packets sailed, between Falmouth and Lisbon; but the
service soon extended to the West Indies, America, Barbadoes, and
elsewhere. They were not only a fine training-school for seamen, but
were in some sense an auxiliary to the British navy, frequently coming
in close contact with the King's enemies or with privateers, in which
conflicts they generally rendered a good account of themselves. They
seem at first to have been supplied for the use of the General Post
Office by contract, and sometimes belonged to their captains or to
companies of private shareholders; but about the year 1820 they were
taken over by the Admiralty, with the idea that a stricter discipline
was needed. The greatest days of the packets were before this
transference, and their diminishing splendour terminated entirely in
1850, when the port ceased to be a packet station, the mails having
been taken in charge by ocean liners. Plymouth has succeeded to the
position that once was Falmouth's. It is no exaggeration to say that
some of the actions of the packets and their dauntless crews recall
the palmy days of Elizabethan naval prowess and exploits such as that
of the immortal _Revenge_. The very name of the hero of that great
adventure was perpetuated by one of the packets, which accomplished
something worthy of his fine tradition. It is told by Gilbert how "in
the year of 1777 Captain William Kempthorne was opposed off the island
of Barbadoes in H.M. Packet _Granville_ to three American privateers,
two of whom were each of equal force to the _Granville_, and lay
alongside her in a raking position. After a desperate action, in which
the captain received a severe wound in the head and lost the roof of
his mouth, the enemy was compelled to sheer off, and the _Granville_
with her brave commander returned safe to England." This is only one
example among many. It is said that within the three years, 1812-14,
"thirty-two actions were fought between Falmouth packets and
privateers, which resulted in seventeen victories for the Cornish
against superior numbers of men and guns, while the remaining
contests, in which also great numbers lost their lives, were in
respect to valour, as glorious." One of these grand struggles may be
best told in Mr. Norway's words:--
"On November 22, 1812, the _Townshend_ packet, armed with eight
9-pounder carronades, a long gun of similar calibre for use as a
chaser, and a crew of twenty-eight men and boys under the command of
Captain James Cock, was within a few hours of dropping her anchor at
Bridgetown, Barbadoes, when the first light of morning revealed two
strange vessels cruising at no great distance. These vessels proved to
be American privateers, the _Tom_, Captain Thos. Wilson, and the
_Bona_, Captain Damaron. The former was armed with fourteen
carronades, some 18- and some 12-pounders, as well as two long
9-pounders, and carried 130 men. The latter had six 18-pounders, with
a long 24-pounder mounted on a traverse, and a crew of ninety men....
This enormous preponderance of force was greatly increased in
effective power by being divided between two opponents. A single enemy
might be crippled by a single shot; but if good fortune rid the
_Townshend_ of one antagonist in this way, there still remained the
other to be reckoned, more powerful at every point than herself.
"If ever circumstances justified surrender after a short resistance
they were present in this case. It might even be thought that
resistance was a useless sacrifice of life; but such was not Captain
Cock's view. He held it to be his plain duty not only to keep the
mails out of the hands of the enemy--which could be done effectually
by sinking them at any moment--but to use every means in his power to
preserve them for their proper owners, and not to abandon hope of
delivering them at the office of the post-office agent at Bridgetown
until every chance of doing so was gone. Now, there were still two
chances in his favour: first, that he might hold out until the noise
of firing attracted some of the British cruisers which were probably
in the immediate neighbourhood; and secondly, if that chance failed,
he might run the _Townshend_ ashore on some shore of the coast where
the privateers could not follow him. Both these chances were desperate
enough; but Captain Cock saw his duty clear before him, and cared
nothing for the consequences. All his preparations were quickly made,
and every man was at his post before the privateers came within range,
which they did about 7 a.m.
"At 7.30 the _Tom_ had placed herself abeam of the packet to larboard,
while the _Bona_ lay on the starboard quarter, and both their
broadsides were crashing into the _Townshend_ at pistol-shot distance,
all three vessels running before the wind. This lasted till eight
o'clock. The Americans, as was usual with them, made great use of
'dismantling shot,' _i.e._, chain- and bar-shot; the effect of which
upon the rigging of the _Townshend_ was most disastrous. It was not
long before her sails were hanging in ribbons, and her spars were
greatly damaged, and in some momentary confusion from this cause the
_Tom_ seized an opportunity of pouring in her boarders, while the
_Bona_ redoubled her fire, both of great guns and musketry, to cover
their attack. After a fierce tussle the Americans were driven back to
their own ship; but this success was won by the loss of four of
Captain Cock's best hands, who received disabling wounds in the fight.
Thereupon both privateers resumed the cannonade, maintaining the
positions which they had taken up at the commencement of the action,
and for another hour the _Townshend_ endured the fire of her enemies'
heavy guns, the courage of her commander and crew remaining as high
and stubborn as ever. But the packet was by this time so much
shattered that she could with difficulty be handled. Again and again
the _Tom_ bore down upon her, and hurled fresh boarders up her sides.
Time after time Captain Cock led his wearied men to meet them, and
each time drove them back.
"But the post-office men were now so reduced in numbers that it was
with the greatest difficulty that Captain Cock could continue to serve
the guns and at the same time collect sufficient men to meet the
constantly recurring boarding attacks. It was plain that this
situation of affairs could not last: there was no sign of succour on
the sea, and when Captain Cock looked aloft he could not but admit
that in the crippled condition of his ship all chance of running her
ashore was gone. The _Townshend_ was in fact a mere wreck. Her
bowsprit was shot in pieces. Both jib-booms and head were carried
away, as well as the wheel and ropes. Scarcely one shroud was left
standing. The packet lay like a log on the water, while the privateers
sailed round her, choosing their positions as they pleased, and raking
her again and again. Still Captain Cock held out. It was not until ten
o'clock, when he had endured the attack of his two powerful enemies
for nearly three hours, that he looked about him and realised that the
end had come. There were four feet of water in the hold, and the
carpenter reported that it was rising rapidly. The packet was, in
fact, sinking. Nearly half the crew were in the hands of the surgeon.
The rest, exhausted and hopeless of success, had already fought more
nobly than even he could have foreseen, and were now being uselessly
sacrificed. Still Captain Cock's pride rebelled against surrender; and
as he saw the colours he had defended so well drop down upon the deck,
it is recorded that he burst into tears. He had no cause for shame.
Such a defeat is as glorious as any victory, and is fully worthy of
the great traditions of valour on the sea which all Englishmen
inherit."
It would be easy to quote many such stories, which, together with the
siege of Pendennis, form the heroic memories of Falmouth. Otherwise,
the town's associations are chiefly provincial, not to say parochial.
The abiding glory of the place is its beauty of position, and the
magnificent views that it commands. Something of an old-world
atmosphere still lingers around the quays. One attraction is gone;
John Burton is no longer at the old curiosity shop bearing his name.
Memories of the Killigrews are preserved by the curious pyramidal
monument, erected in the Grove by Martin Killigrew in 1737, and now
standing at Arwenack Green. Perhaps there should be some memorial of
the Rev. John Collins, who, during the Commonwealth days, practised
here as a physician, having been ejected from his living at Illogan.
His diary proves how well he deserved remembrance. One entry tells how
he "did this day administer ---- to old Mrs. Jones for her ague."
Then, the following day: "Called on Mrs. Jones, and found she had died
during the night in much agony. N.B.--Not use ---- again." We may hope
he is now forgiven for his experiments. Falmouth, however, can only
claim him as a resident. There is little more to tell about Falmouth.
Its present docks, covering an area of 120 acres, were built in 1860.
There is some ship-building, some brewing, with oyster and trawl
fishing; the fishery engages nearly seven hundred persons.
Industrially, the town cannot hope for much, unless it should ever
become a naval base; but as a residential district it is very
delightful, combining the charms of sea and noble river. The Castle
Drive can hardly be surpassed, of its kind; and if we proceed past the
Gyllyngvase bathing-beach, there is a pleasant little lake known as
the Swanpool, which was once a swannery of the Killigrews.
For antiquity as for present-day industry we must go to Penryn, which
lies about two miles up the Penryn Creek and is devoted to the export
of granite. The busy but not very lovely little town has very much of
a granite tone about it, and can boast that it supplied the material
for Waterloo Bridge; it can also boast that it was in existence before
the Conquest--how much earlier is difficult to say. Its parish church
was so largely restored in 1883 that it is practically new; it is
dedicated to "Gluvias the Cornishman," who was a Welshman. Among the
gardens at the back of Penryn's chief street are some remains of
Glassiney College, founded in 1246 by Bishop Bronescombe of Exeter for
secular canons and vicars. It became perhaps the most important centre
of learning and literature in Cornwall, and was a nursery of the old
miracle-plays or interludes--some of which still survive in the
Cornish original and prove themselves to be no better, no worse, than
the average of such performances throughout the kingdom. Old Cornwall,
it must be confessed, did very little for literature; and if we
regret the extinction of the vernacular, it is not for any literary
treasures that remain embodied in it. But an event that took place at
Penryn is the theme of something a little better than the Cornish
interludes--namely, the "Penryn Tragedy," which inspired Lillo's play
_The Fatal Curiosity_. It is said that a Penryn man who had left
Cornwall in his early days and had become rich abroad, returned to his
home just as a present-day miner might return from South Africa. He
was recognised by his married sister, but, begging her keep the
secret, he proceeded incognito to his parents' house and asked their
hospitality for the night. Unhappily the old mother caught sight of
the treasure that he had about his person, and she persuaded the
father to kill the man in his sleep. Next morning the sister came to
share in their joy at the wanderer's return, and asked for her
brother. To their horror, the wicked old couple found that they had
murdered their own son. They had grace enough to commit suicide after
the discovery. The same tale seems to have been conveyed to Wales,
where it is related of a parish in Montgomeryshire; but a Welsh poem
that tells the story rightly attributes it to Cornwall. And yet it is
possible that the same event happened in Wales also; a few years since
the newspapers related an almost identical incident as having occurred
in Russia. Perhaps the story really belongs to folk-lore, reappearing
at times under a new guise and in a new locality.
In the possession of the Penryn Corporation is a silver chalice, given
by Lady Jane Killigrew "to the towne of Penmarin when they received
mee that was in great miserie." It seems that about this time (1633)
the lady was divorced, and took refuge from her domestic troubles at
Penryn, where the animosity of the townsfolk towards the Killigrews
caused her to be received with great favour; she afterwards married
Francis Bluett. A mistake has been made by many in attributing to her
the piracy committed two generations earlier by Lady Mary Killigrew,
who illegally boarded some foreign vessels lying at Falmouth Harbour
and carried away treasure. There was some bloodshed over the matter,
and a considerable scandal; so much, that it is said the lady was
sentenced to death by the authorities, but escaped through influence.
In any case, poor Lady Jane, who, whether she had been frail or not,
had enough private sorrows of her own, must not be saddled with this
additional load of blame for an act that she never committed.
Immediately opposite Falmouth, across the Penryn creek, the little
port of Flushing, with a climate supposed to be the mildest in
England, has survived to tell us of an extinguished glory. The passing
of the packet service brought comparative stagnation to Falmouth; it
actually crushed Flushing. It is a pleasant little place, and one
cannot wonder at its popularity with the naval men who resided here.
It is said to have been founded by Dutch settlers, who brought the
name with them. Some few of its old houses remain, suggestive of its
former life, and Flushing is left to luxuriate in the dreams of its
past. The church here is modern. Flushing is in Mylor parish, and
Mylor can claim a greater antiquity. There was once a royal dockyard
here. The dedication is to Melor, son of St. Melyan; both father and
son appear to have suffered martyrdom, or were victims of political
intrigue. The church was restored in 1869, but retains much of its
Norman character; and one of its best monuments perpetuates the memory
of the Trefusis family, whose name also attaches to the headland
eastward of Flushing. Lord Clinton is of this family. Mylor is most
pleasantly situated at the mouth of its own little creek, and looks up
the Carrick Roads towards Truro; but before taking the journey
thither, delightful in itself and delightful in its objective, it may
be worth while to cross the harbour for a peep at St. Mawes, which
somehow seems like an off-lying shoot of Falmouth. It is named
apparently from St. Maudez or Mauditus, of Ireland, though some have
asserted that the real dedication is to St. Maclovius of the Breton
St. Malo. The question is rather involved, and may not appeal to many.
The castle was built in 1542, about the same time as Pendennis, and
both forts were supposed to have been under the special fostering care
of Henry VIII., who realised the strategic importance of Falmouth
Harbour. Its first Governor was Michael Vyvyan, and its last Sir
Alexander Cameron. At the time of the Civil War it could not boast the
fine resistance that Pendennis offered, being easily commanded by
ordnance from the heights above; but as a defence on the seaward side
and a protection to the estuary its position is very powerful, and
must prove so should Falmouth ever become a naval base. At present the
castle has little but its size to recommend it; but the little town,
with its small jutting pier, has some attractiveness. An interesting
ingot of tin was discovered near here, many years since, showing how
the old tin-workers shaped their metal for transport. Truro can
hardly be said to be on the coast; but certainly no book on Cornwall
can ignore this town, which is, in fact, the capital of the Duchy
intellectually and ecclesiastically, however loudly Bodmin may claim
to be the assize town. Partly by reason of its shape, partly perhaps
from other causes, there has been little centralisation in Cornwall,
and the very selection of Truro to be the cathedral city was in some
sort an artificial and arbitrary arrangement. No doubt it was the best
that could have been made; but old Cornwall had no such centre, and
there were rival claims to be considered. It may not be incorrect to
say that Cornwall of to-day has several capitals: Penzance is the
commercial centre of the far west; Redruth and Camborne dominate the
mining districts; St. Austell is the metropolis of china-clay; while
Bodmin and Launceston perhaps more intimately represent agriculture.
Truro stands apart from them all, and represents the Church. In one
sense the real capital of Cornwall to-day is Plymouth, meaning by that
the Three Towns, as in old days it was Exeter. But of all existing
Cornish towns, none would be better qualified than Truro to play the
dignified part of the cathedral city; and, with its population of
about 13,000, Truro does this very well. Its honours sit well upon it,
and have been accepted with becoming pride. Undoubtedly the
pleasantest way of reaching the cleanly and agreeable little town is
by the boat from Falmouth, and the trip is one of the recognised
things that visitors to Cornwall are supposed to do. There can be no
question of the journey's beauty, though when it is contended that
this is the loveliest river in England, one remembers other beautiful
streams whose claims are at least equal. In Cornwall itself there is
the Fowey River, quite as rich in loveliness, if on a smaller scale;
and there is the Tamar, whose charm is so great that both Devon and
Cornwall are eager to claim it. Then there are the exquisite reaches
of the Dart, from its mouth to Totnes, to say nothing of its wilder
course beyond, among the fastnesses of the moors. In Monmouthshire
there is the "sylvan Wye." All these, and many other claimants, spring
to mind and enforce upon us the foolishness of any comparisons at all.
Beauty must be always complete and satisfying in itself, unless we let
our thoughts be disturbed by ideas of a possible better. It is certain
that the passage up the Fal, especially in suitable weather, is of
very real charm, with its numerous tempting creeks and pools, its
ferries and riverside hamlets, its sloping meadows and spreading
woodlands. But when we speak of going up the Fal to Truro, we are
speaking incorrectly; the true Fal turns eastward after passing King
Harry's Reach and runs to Ruan Lanihorne; the water on which we pass
to the Truro quayside is the Truro River. It has been spoken of by our
late Queen, among the many visitors who have admired it. She said, "We
went up the Truro, which is beautiful, winding between banks entirely
wooded with stunted oak and full of numberless creeks. The prettiest
are King Harry's Ferry and a spot near Tregothnan, where there is a
beautiful little boathouse." Tennyson was here a little later (in
1860) after a visit to the Scillies, and he made the river trip from
Falmouth to Truro. On the boat the poet was recognised, his portraits,
and perhaps some knowledge that he was in the neighbourhood, being
responsible for the discovery. Palgrave, who was with him, writes:
"Our captain presently came forward with a tray and squat bottle, and
said, with unimpeachable good manners, that he was aware how
distinguished a passenger, &c., and that some young men sitting
opposite, and he, would be much honoured if Mr. Tennyson would take a
tumbler of stout with them." The poet gave a gracious response, and
willingly drank the health of his admirers. But "presently the captain
reappeared, and this time it was the ladies in the cabin who begged
that the Laureate would only step down among them. But the height of
that small place of refuge, Tennyson declared, would render the
proposed exhibition impossible. Might he not be kindly excused? The
good women, however, were not to be balked; and one after another
presented her half-length above the little hatchway before us, gazed,
smiled, and retreated." It was well for Tennyson that he had overcome
some of his early shyness, or the ordeal might have tried him
considerably. There was no cathedral in those days, rising with
somewhat foreign aspect from near the waterside; but its germ was
there in the old parish church of St. Mary's, which now welds the
ancient and the modern into one beautiful and fairly harmonious whole.
It is difficult to over-estimate the value of this old church as a
component part of the new cathedral; and the atmosphere that it sheds
seems gently pervading the entire building, taking away the glare of
its modernity, softening what might otherwise be crudity, and giving a
vital sense of continuity to the worship of the bygone and the
present. It may have been impossible to include more of the old church
in the new edifice, but we are grateful that this south aisle
remains. It is generally supposed that the Cornish are a Dissenting
people, yet they all took kindly to the building of this minster, and
they all feel a pride in it. Gifts poured in from all parts of the
Duchy to assist in its erection, and, suitably enough, very little but
Cornish material was used in its construction--Cornish granite,
china-stone, polyphant, and serpentine, with Cornish copper in the
clock-tower. It might, perhaps, have been better if Perpendicular, the
prevalent church style in Cornwall, had been adhered to, instead of a
rather French-looking Early English; but even on this point opinions
may be divided.
The cathedral has made Truro a place of pilgrimage for all loyal
Cornish folk, and they may feel proud that in a materialistic age such
an emblem of faith has been fostered and reared. Local guide-books
will sufficiently explain the details, but every visitor should notice
the beautiful marble paving of the choir, and the fine baptistery in
memory of the missionary, Henry Martyn, himself of Truro. This revival
of the Cornish see, some thirty years since, formed a link between the
present generation and the old days, nine hundred years earlier, when
St. German's was episcopal; further still, it takes us back to the
times of the old saints, fitly commemorated here, who came from
Ireland and Wales and Brittany to bring the Cornish people a knowledge
of that in which they believed. The Truro cathedral is a fact, and
certainly a fact of considerable significance. Its first bishop was
the beloved Dr. Benson, his memory perpetuated in the Benson Transept,
with its graceful rose-window. One thing is impressed upon us by this
new minster--that present-day architecture, when meritorious, is an
imitation. The closer it keeps to old models, the better is the
result. Did church-building really say its last word four centuries
since?
For its greater antiquity we have to remember that Kenwyn, about a
mile inland, is the mother of Truro, and this place has been claimed
as a Roman station named _Cenion_. The Itineraries speak of the
stations on the rivers _Tamara_, _Voluba_ and _Cenia_. _Tamara_ is the
Tamar; _Voluba_ probably the Fowey; _Cenia_ the Truro or Kenwyn River.
But it is exceedingly doubtful that Rome ever had definite stations in
Cornwall at all. This does not affect the antiquity; Kenwyn was a
British settlement, if never Romanised. Truro is supposed to signify
the "town on the river"; its manor was held by Robert de Mortain after
the Conquest, and the place seems to have had a charter as early as
the days of Stephen. Its position, far retired up the river, is
eloquent of times when men dreaded to settle close to the sea--the sea
brought foes and deadly night attacks; it was when commerce became
more important that Falmouth sprang into being. We have similar
instances at Lostwithiel and Fowey, Totnes and Dartmouth, Exeter and
Exmouth, as well as a striking modern instance in Bristol and
Avonmouth. There was a castle at Truro, on the present site of the
cattle market, but it was "clene down" in the time of Leland; there
were also a Dominican friary and a house of Clare monks. As a port
Truro did its best to oppose the building and growth of Falmouth, but
the inevitable could only be delayed, not prevented. The town's
recompense came late, but it has come. Though it welcomed the fugitive
Charles II., the town itself does not appear to have seen any
fighting during the Civil War--it is certainly quite indefensible; but
at Tresillian Bridge, about three and a half miles east, at the head
of the creek so named, the desperate struggle of Cornish Royalists was
brought to a close by the surrender of Sir Ralph Hopton to Fairfax.