country, which really extended farther than that, as some of the mines
were under the sea. But the industry was showing signs of decay, for
Cornwall had no coal and very little peat, and the native-grown timber
had been practically exhausted. She had therefore to depend on the coal
from South Wales to smelt the ore, and it was becoming a question
whether it was cheaper to take the ore to the coal or the coal to the
ore, the cost being about equal in either case. Meantime many miners had
left the country, and others were thinking of following them to Africa
and America, while many of the more expensive mines to work had been
closed down. The origin of tin mining in Cornwall was of remote
antiquity, and the earliest method of raising the metal was that
practiced in the time of Diodorus by streaming--a method more like
modern gold-digging, since the ore in the bed of the streams, having
been already washed there for centuries, was much purer than that found
in the lodes. Diodorus Siculus, about the beginning of the Christian
Era, mentioned the inhabitants of Belerium as miners and smelters of
tin, and wrote: "After beating it up into knucklebone shapes, they carry
it to a certain island lying off Britain named Ictis (probably the Isle
of Wight), and thence the merchants buy it from the inhabitants and
carry it over to Gaul, and lastly, travelling by land through Gaul about
thirty days, they bring down the loads on horses to the mouth of the
Rhine."
There was no doubt in our own minds that the mining of tin in Cornwall
was the most ancient industry known in Britain, and had existed there in
the time of prehistoric man. We often found ourselves speculating about
the age, and the ages of man. The age of man was said to be seventy, and
might be divided thus:
At ten a child, at twenty wild,
At thirty strong, if ever!
At forty wise, at fifty rich,
At sixty good, or never!
There were some curious Celtic lines which described the age of animals
compared with that of man:
Thrice the age of a dog is that of a horse;
Thrice the age of a horse is that of a man;
Thrice the age of a man is that of a deer;
Thrice the age of a deer is that of an eagle.
The ages of man were divided into three by Lucretius as:
(1) "The Stone Age," when celts or implements of stone were employed.
(2) "The Bronze Age," when implements were made of copper and brass.
(3) "The Iron Age," when implements were made of iron, as in the present
day.
This being the order of antiquity and materials employed in making the
implements, it was therefore safe to conclude that the mining of tin
must have dated back as far as the Bronze Age, for there could have been
no bronze made without tin, since bronze is produced by the mixing of
copper and tin.
Appliances for crushing and smelting the ore were already in existence
in very early times, as well as blowing-houses and moulds in which to
run the molten metal. The ingots of tin were in the form of an astragal,
and an ancient ingot of large size dredged up in Falmouth Harbour,
weighing 150 lbs., resembled the letter H in form. This was the most
convenient shape for carriage, either in a boat or slung across the back
of a horse, and horses were employed in that way to convey the tin along
the steep and narrow roads from the mines to the sea-coast.
The Romans made use of the Cornish mines, for an ingot of tin bearing a
Roman stamp and inscription was preserved in the Truro Museum, and Roman
coins had been found in the mines.
With St. Austell's Bay to our left, we soon came in sight of the town of
St. Austell, behind which were the Hensbarrow Downs, rising over 1,000
feet above sea-level. From the beacon on the top the whole of Cornwall
can be seen on a clear day, bounded by the Bristol Channel on one side
and the English Channel on the other; on the lower reaches, and quite
near St. Austell, were the great tin mines of Carclaze, some of the
largest and most ancient in Cornwall.
Another great industry was also being carried on, as in the year 1768 W.
Cookworthy, a Plymouth Quaker, had discovered an enormous bed of white
clay, which had since been so extensively excavated that the workings
now resembled the crater of an extinct volcano. This clay, of the finest
quality, was named China clay, because it was exactly similar to that
used in China, where porcelain was made many centuries before it was
made in England, the process of its manufacture being kept a profound
secret by the Chinese, whose country was closed to Europeans.
A story, however, was told of an Englishman who succeeded in entering
China and obtaining employment at one of the potteries, where he
eventually became acquainted with the secrets of the whole business. The
difficulties he experienced in getting out of the country again, and his
adventures and hairbreadth escapes from death, were thrilling to listen
to. The pattern on the famous Willow plates, which he was afterwards
able to produce in England, was commonly supposed to represent some of
his own adventures, and he was thought to be the man pictured as being
pursued across a bridge and escaping in a boat. This, however, was not
correct, as all the views had been copied from the original Chinese
willow pattern, the interpretation of which was as follows:
To the right is a lordly Mandarin's country-seat, which is two
storeys high to show the rank and wealth of the possessor. In the
foreground is a pavilion, and in the background an orange-tree, while
to the right of the pavilion is a peach-tree in full bearing. The
estate is enclosed by an elegant wooden fence, and at one end of the
bridge stands the famous willow-tree and at the other is the
gardener's cottage, one storey high, and so humble that the grounds
are uncultivated, the only green thing being a small fir-tree at the
back.
At the top of the pattern on the left-hand side is an island with a
cottage; the grounds are highly cultivated and much of the land has
been reclaimed from the water. The two birds are turtle-doves, and
the three figures on the bridge are the Mandarin's daughter with a
distaff, nearest the cottage, the lover with a box is shown in the
middle, and nearest the willow-tree is the Mandarin with a whip.
[Illustration: THE LOVE-STORY OF LI-CHI AND CHANG.]
The written history of China goes back for 4,000 years, a period more
than twice that over which English history can be traced; and it is
about 2,600 years since Confucius wrote his wonderful laws. Since that
time his teachings have been followed by countless millions of his
countrymen, and temples have been erected to him all over that great
country, whose population numbers more than 300 millions.
The origin of the legend represented on the willow pattern must
therefore have been of remote antiquity, and the following is the record
of the tradition:
The Mandarin had an only daughter named Li-chi, who fell in love with
Chang, a young man who lived in the island home represented at the
top of the pattern, and who had been her father's secretary. The
father overheard them one day making vows of love under the
orange-tree, and sternly forbade the unequal match; but the lovers
contrived to elope. They lay concealed for a while in the gardener's
cottage, and thence made their escape in a boat to the island-home
of the young lover. The enraged Mandarin pursued them with a whip,
and would have beaten them to death had not the gods rewarded their
fidelity by changing them into turtle-doves.
The picture is called the willow pattern not only because it is a
tale of disastrous love, but because the elopement occurred when the
willow begins to shed its leaves.
Much of the clay at Carclaze was being sent to the Staffordshire
potteries, to be used in the production of the finest porcelain. It was
loaded in ships and taken round the coast via Liverpool to Runcorn, a
port on the River Mersey and the terminus of the Duke of Bridgewater's
Canal, where it was transhipped into small boats, which conveyed it to
the potteries in Staffordshire, involving a carriage of about fifty
miles, After being manufactured into porcelain, it was packed into
crates and again consigned by canal to many places inland and to
Liverpool for shipment abroad, the carriage being cheaper and safer than
if consigned by rail, owing to the fragile nature of the goods. Some of
the earthenware had of course to be sent by rail, but the breakages in
shunting operations and the subsequent claims on the railway companies
caused the rate of carriage to be very high.
In later years the pottery trade became rather depressed owing to
competition from abroad, and a story was told of a traveller from the
Staffordshire Potteries who called at a wholesale house in London where
he invariably got some orders, but on this occasion was unsuccessful.
When he inquired the reason, he was taken to the warehouse and shown a
small china tea service. "Do you know that?" asked the manager. "Yes!"
quickly replied the traveller; "that comes from so-and-so in the
Potteries, and is their favourite pattern and design!" "And what did I
pay for it?" "Twelve and six," promptly replied the traveller. "Ah,"
said his customer, "you are wrong this time; that set cost us 10s. 6d.,
and came from Germany!" The traveller reported the matter to his firm,
who on inquiry discovered that the Germans had erected a pottery on
their sea-coast and, by taking advantage of sea carriage both ways, were
able to undersell the British manufacturer with pottery for which the
clay had been found in his own country.
Arriving at St. Austell, we had a look round the town, and visited the
church, which was dedicated to St. Austell. But in the previous year it
had undergone a restoration, and there appeared to be some doubt whether
the figure on the tower was that of the patron saint or not. There were
other figures, but the gargoyles were as usual the ugliest of the lot.
There was formerly a curious clock there which was mentioned in an old
deed of the time of Edward VI recording that St. Austell's tower had
"four bells and a clok," but the bells had been increased to eight and a
new clock placed in the tower, though the face of the old one,
representing the twenty-four hours in as many circles, could still be
seen. When the old clock had been made, it was evident there was no
repetition in the afternoon of the morning's numerals, as the hours
after twelve noon were the thirteenth and fourteenth, and so on up to
twenty-four. The church porch was quite a fine erection, with a chamber
built over it, at one time used as a sleeping-room by travelling monks,
and, like the nave, with a battlement along the top, an old inscription
over the porch, "Ry du," having been interpreted as meaning "Give to
God." The carving over the doorway represented a pelican feeding its
young with blood from its own breast, and a sundial bore the very
significant motto:
Every hour shortens man's life.
Inside the church there was a curiosity in the shape of a wooden tablet,
on which was painted a copy of a letter of thanks from King Charles I to
the county of Cornwall for its assistance during his conflict with the
Roundheads, It was written from his camp at Sudeley Castle on September
10th, 1643, and was one of several similar tablets to be found in
various churches in Cornwall.
[Illustration: REV. JOHN WESLEY. (_The Founder of Methodism in
England._)]
The Wesleyan chapel at St. Austell, with accommodation for a
congregation of 1,000 persons, also attracted our attention, as it had a
frontage like that of a mansion, with columns supporting the front
entrance, and was situated in a very pleasant part of the town. John
Wesley laboured hard in Cornwall, and we were pleased to see evidences
of his great work there as we travelled through the Duchy; and as
Cornishmen must surround the memory of their saints with legends, it did
not surprise us that they had one about Mr. Wesley. He was travelling
late one night over a wild part of Cornwall when a terrific storm came
on, and the only shelter at hand was a mansion that had the reputation
of being haunted. He found his way into the hall and lay down on a bench
listening to the raging elements outside until he fell fast asleep.
About midnight he awoke and was surprised to find the table in the hall
laid out for a banquet, and a gaily dressed company, including a
gentleman with a red feather in his cap, already assembled. This person
offered Wesley a vacant chair and invited him to join them, an
invitation which he accepted; but before he took a bite or a sup he rose
from his chair, and said, "Gentlemen! it is my custom to ask a blessing
on these occasions," and added, "Stand all!" The company rose, but as he
pronounced the sacred invocation the room grew dark and the ghostly
guests vanished.
We should have liked to hear what followed, but this was left to our
imagination, which became more active as the darkness of night came on.
As we walked we saw some beautiful spar stones used to repair the roads,
which would have done finely for our rockeries.
Late that night we entered Truro, destined to become years afterwards a
cathedral town.
(_Distance walked thirty-three miles_.)
_Friday, November 17th._
Truro formerly possessed a castle, but, as in the case of Liskeard, not
a vestige now remained, and even Leland, who traced the site, described
the castle as being "clene down." He also described the position of the
town itself, and wrote, "The creke of Truro afore the very towne is
divided into two parts, and eche of them has a brook cumming down and a
bridge, and this towne of Truro betwixt them both." These two brooks
were the Allen, a rivulet only, and the Kenwyn, a larger stream, while
the "creke of Truro" was a branch of the Falmouth Harbour, and quite a
fine sheet of water at high tide. Truro was one of the Stannary Towns as
a matter of course, for according to tradition it was near here that tin
was first discovered.
The discoverer of this valuable metal was said to have been St. Piran,
or St. Perran--as the Roman Catholic Church in Truro was dedicated to
St. Piran we agreed to record that as the correct name. The legend
stated that he was an Irish saint who in his own country had been able
by his prayers to sustain the Irish kings and their armies for ten days
on three cows! But in spite of his great services to his country,
because of his belief in Christ his countrymen condemned him to die, by
being thrown over a precipice into the sea, with a millstone hung about
his neck. The day appointed for his execution was very stormy, but a
great crowd of "wild Irish" assembled, and St. Piran was thrown over the
rocks. At that very moment the storm ceased and there was a great calm.
They looked over the cliffs to see what had become of him, and to their
intense astonishment saw the saint calmly sitting upon the millstone and
being carried out to sea. They watched him until he disappeared from
their sight, and all who saw this great miracle were of course
immediately converted to Christianity. St. Piran floated safely across
the sea and landed on the coast of Cornwall, not at Truro, but on a
sandy beach about ten miles away from that town, the place where he
landed being named after him at the present day. When the natives saw
him approaching their coasts, they thought he was sailing on wood, and
when they found it was stone they also were converted to Christianity.
St. Piran built an oratory and lived a lonely and godly life,
ornamenting his cell with all kinds of crystals and stones gathered from
the beach and the rocks, and adorning his altar with the choicest
flowers. On one occasion, when about to prepare a frugal meal, he
collected some stones in a circle and made a fire from some fuel close
to hand. Fanned by the wind, the heat was intensified more than usual,
with the result that he noticed a stream of beautiful white metal
flowing out of the fire. "Great was the joy of the saint when he
perceived that God in His goodness had discovered to him something that
would be useful to man." Such was the origin of tin smelting in
Cornwall. St. Piran revealed the secret to St. Chiwidden, who, being
learned in many sciences, at once recognised the value of the metal. The
news gradually spread to distant lands, and eventually reached Tyre, the
ancient city of the Phoenicians, so that their merchants came to
Cornwall to buy tin in the days of King Solomon. The Britons then,
fearing an invasion, built castles on their coast, including that on St.
Michael's Mount, while St. Piran became the most popular saint in
Cornwall and eventually the patron saint of the miners of tin. His name
was associated with many places besides the sands he landed upon,
including several villages, as well as a cross, a chapel, a bay, a well,
and a coombe. But perhaps the strangest of all was St. Piran's Round,
near Perranzabuloe Village. This, considered one of the most remarkable
earthworks in the kingdom, and of remote antiquity, was a remarkable
amphitheatre 130 feet in diameter, with traces of seven tiers of seats;
it has been used in modern times for the performance of miracle-plays.
One of the "brooks" at Truro mentioned by Leland was the River Kenwyn,
which joined the River Allen to form the Truro River; but before doing
so the Kenwyn, or some portion of its overflow, had been so diverted
that the water ran down the gutters of the principal streets. It was a
novelty to us to see the water so fresh and clean running down each side
of the street--not slowly, but as if at a gallop.
In the time of the Civil War Truro was garrisoned for the King, but in
1646, after a fierce engagement between the Royalists under Sir Ralph
Hopton and Cromwell's forces under Sir Thomas Fairfax, a treaty was
signed at Tresillian River Bridge (a pretty place which we had passed
last night, about three miles outside the town on the St. Austell road),
by which Truro was surrendered quietly to the Parliament.
The Grammar School, where many eminent men had been educated, was
founded in 1549. Among its old pupils was included Sir Humphry Davy,
born in 1778, the eminent chemist who was the first to employ the
electric current in chemical decomposition and to discover nitric oxide
or "laughing gas." He was also the inventor of the famous safety-lamp
which bears his name, and which has been the means of saving the lives
of thousands of miners.
Truro was the birthplace of several men of note: Samuel Foote, Richard
Lander, and Henry Martyn, two of them having been born in public-houses
in the town.
Samuel Foote, a famous dramatist and comedian, was born at the "Old
King's Head Inn" in 1720, and was buried in Westminster Abbey in 1777.
He was a clever actor and mimic, "and kept London in a good humour"; he
wrote the _Mayor of Garrett_ and many other comedies.
Richard Lander, born at the "Fighting Cocks Inn" in 1804, became famous
as an African explorer. He took part in the expedition to Africa which
was the first to discover and trace the Niger. He was injured by savages
and died at Fernando Po in 1834.
Henry Martyn, born in 1781, the son of a miner, was a noble and devoted
missionary. He left home when twenty-four years of age to labour amongst
the Hindus and Mahometans at Cawnpore in India, and travelled in Persia
and Armenia. He translated portions of the Bible and Prayer Book into
the Persian and Hindustani languages, and at last, weary and worn out in
his Master's service, died of fever at Tokat in 1812.
[Illustration: THE FRONTAGE, OLD ST. MARY'S CHURCH.]
St. Mary's Church was built in 1518, and was remarkable for its two east
windows and some fine carving on the walls outside. It was surrounded by
narrow streets and ancient buildings. We had no time to explore the
interior, so contented ourselves with a visit to an old stone preserved
by the Corporation and inscribed:
DANIEL JENKIN, MAIOR,
WHO SEEKS TO FIND ETERNAL TREASVRE
MVST VSE NO GVILE IN WEIGHT AND MEASVRE.
1618.
We now considered that we had arrived at the beginning of the end of our
journey, and left Truro with the determination to reach Land's End on
the morrow, Saturday. We continued our walk as near the sea as the
rivers or inlets would admit, for we were anxious to see as much as
possible of the fine rock scenery of the Cornish coast. We were in the
best of health and spirits, and a thirty-mile walk seemed to have no
effect upon us whatever, beyond causing a feeling of drowsiness when
entering our hotel for the night.
We soon arrived at the quaint little village with a name, as my brother
said, almost as long as itself, Perranarworthal, connected with Falmouth
by a creek, which seemed to have made an effort to cross Cornwall from
one side to the other, or from one Channel to the other. It was at
Falmouth that on one dark stormy night some years previously the ship my
brother was travelling by called for cargo, and the shelter of the
harbour was much appreciated after passing through the stormy sea
outside. Perran in the name of the village meant the same as Piran, and
the small church there was dedicated to that saint, who deserved to be
called the St. Patrick of Cornwall, for he occupied the same position in
the popular imagination here as that saint did in Ireland. It was in
this parish that St. Piran had his Holy Well, but that had now
disappeared, for accidentally it had been drained off by mining
operations.
Gwennap was only about three miles away--formerly the centre of the
richest mining district in Cornwall, the mines there being nearly six
hundred yards deep, and the total length of the roads or workings in
them about sixty miles. No similar space in the Old World contained so
much mineral wealth, for the value of the tin mined during one century
was estimated at ten million pounds sterling. After the mines were
abandoned the neighbourhood presented a desolate and ruined appearance.
[Illustration: OLD ST. MARY'S CHURCH, TRURO. (_The Cathedral of Truro is
now built on the site where this old church formerly stood._)]
Many human remains belonging to past ages had been found buried in the
sands in this neighbourhood; but Gwennap had one glorious memory of the
departed dead, for John Wesley visited the village several times to
preach to the miners, and on one occasion (1762), on a very windy day,
when the sound of his voice was being carried away by the wind, he tried
the experiment--which proved a great success--of preaching in the bottom
of a wide dry pit, the miners standing round him on the sloping sides
and round the top. The pit was supposed to have been formed by
subsidences resulting from the mining operations below, and as he used
it on subsequent occasions when preaching to immense congregations, it
became known as "Wesley's Preaching Pit." It must have been a pathetic
sight when, in his eighty-fifth year, he preached his last sermon there.
"His open-air preaching was powerful in the extreme, his energy and
depth of purpose inspiring, and his organising ability exceptional; and
as an evangelist of the highest character, with the world as his parish,
he was the founder of the great religious communion of 'the people
called Methodists.'" It was therefore scarcely to be wondered at that
the Gwennap pit should be considered as holy ground, and that it should
become the Mecca of the Cornish Methodists and of others from all over
the world. Wesley died in 1791, and in 1803 the pit was brought to its
present condition--a circular pit formed into steps or seats rising one
above another from the bottom to the top, and used now for the great
annual gathering of the Methodists held during Whitsuntide. The idea was
probably copied from St. Piran's Round, a similar but much older
formation a few miles distant.
[Illustration: GWENNAP PIT, REDRUTH.]
Penryn was the next place we visited, and a very pretty place too! It
was situated on the slope of a picturesque hill surrounded by orchards
and gardens, and luxuriant woodlands adorned its short but beautiful
river. The sea view was of almost unequalled beauty, and included the
magnificent harbour of Falmouth, of which an old writer said that "a
hundred vessels may anchor in it, and not one see the mast of
another"--of course when ships were smaller.
The old church at Penryn was that of St. Gluvias, near which were a few
remains of Glassiney College, formerly the chief centre from which the
vernacular literature of Cornwall was issued and whence our knowledge of
the old legends and mysteries of Cornwall was derived. The town was said
to have had a court-leet about the time of the Conquest, but the borough
was first incorporated in the seventeenth century by James I. The
Corporation possessed a silver cup and cover, presented to them by the
notorious Lady Jane Killigrew, and inscribed--"To the town of Penmarin
when they received me that was in great misery. J.K. 1633." Lady Jane's
trouble arose through her ladyship and her men boarding some Dutch
vessels that lay off Falmouth, stealing their treasure, and causing the
death of some of their crews.
In the time of James I. a Spanish man-of-war came unseen through the
mist of the harbour, and despatched a well-armed crew with muffled oars
to plunder and burn the town of Penryn. They managed to land in the
darkness, and were about to begin their depredations when suddenly they
heard a great sound of drums and trumpets and the noise of many people.
This so alarmed them that they beat a rapid retreat, thinking the
militia had been called out by some spy who had known of their arrival.
But the Penryn people were in happy ignorance of their danger. It
happened that some strolling actors were performing a tragedy, and the
battle scene was just due as the Spaniards came creeping up in the
darkness; hence the noise. When the Penryn folk heard the following
morning what had happened, it was said they had to thank Shakespeare for
their lucky escape.
No one passing through the smiling and picturesque town of Penryn would
dream that that beautiful place could ever have been associated with
such a fearful and horrid event as that known to history as the "Penryn
Tragedy," which happened during the reign of James I.
At that time there lived at the Bohechland Farm in the parish of St.
Gluvias a well-to-do farmer and his wife and family. Their youngest son
was learning surgery, but, not caring for that profession, and being of
a wild and roving disposition, he ran away to sea, and eventually became
a pirate and the captain of a privateer. He was very successful in his
evil business, amassing great wealth, and he habitually carried his most
valuable jewels in a belt round his waist. At length he ventured into
the Mediterranean, and attacked a Turkish ship, but, owing to an
accident, his powder magazine exploded, and he and his men were blown
into the air, some of them being killed and others injured. The captain
escaped, however, and fell into the sea. He was an expert swimmer, and
reached the Island of Rhodes, where he had to make use of his stolen
jewels to maintain himself. He was trying to sell one of them to a Jew
when it was recognised as belonging to the Dey of Algiers. He was
arrested, and sentenced to the galleys as a pirate, but soon gained
great influence over the other galley slaves, whom he persuaded to
murder their officers and escape. The plan succeeded, and the ringleader
managed to get on a Cornish boat bound for London. Here he obtained a
position as assistant to a surgeon, who took him to the East Indies,
where his early training came in useful, and after a while the
Cornishman began to practise for himself. Fortunately for him, he was
able to cure a rajah of his disease, which restored his fortune, and he
decided to return to Cornwall. The ship was wrecked on the Cornish
coast, and again his skill in swimming saved him. He had been away for
fifteen years, and now found his sister married to a mercer in Penryn;
she, however, did not know him until he bared his arm and showed her a
mark which had been there in infancy. She was pleased to see him, and
told him that their parents had lost nearly all their money. Then he
showed her his possessions, gold and jewels, and arranged to go that
night as a stranger to his parents' home and ask for lodgings, while she
was to follow in the morning, when he would tell them who he was. When
he knocked, his father opened the door, and saw a ragged and
weather-beaten man who asked for food and an hour's shelter. Taking him
to be a sea-faring man, he willingly gave him some food, and afterwards
asked him to stay the night. After supper they sat by the fire talking
until the farmer retired to rest. Then his wife told the sailor how
unfortunate they had been and how poor they were, and that they would
soon have to be sold up and perhaps finish their life in a workhouse. He
took a piece of gold out of his belt and told her there was enough in it
to pay all their debts, and after that there would be some left for
himself. The sight of the gold and jewels excited the woman's cupidity,
and when the sailor was fast asleep she woke her husband, told him what
had happened, and suggested that they should murder the sailor and bury
his body next day in the garden. The farmer was very unwilling, but his
wife at length persuaded him to go with her. Finding the sailor still
fast asleep, they cut his throat and killed him, and covered him up with
the bedclothes till they should have an opportunity of burying him. In
the morning their daughter came and asked where the sailor was who
called on them the previous night, but they said no sailor had been
there. "But," she said, "he must be here, for he is my brother, and your
long-lost son; I saw the scar on his arm." The mother turning deadly
pale sank in a chair, while with an oath the father ran upstairs, saw
the scar, and then killed himself with the knife with which he had
killed his son. The mother followed, and, finding her husband dead,
plunged the knife in her own breast. The daughter, wondering why they
were away so long, went upstairs, and was so overcome with horror at
seeing the awful sight that she fell down on the floor in a fit from
which she never recovered!
The first difficulty we had to contend with on continuing our journey
was the inlet of the River Helford, but after a rough walk through a
rather lonely country we found a crossing-place at a place named Gweek,
at the head of the river, which we afterwards learned was the scene of
Hereward's Cornish adventures, described by Charles Kingsley in
_Hereward the last of the English_, published in 1866.
Here we again turned towards the sea, and presently arrived at Helston,
an ancient and decaying town supposed to have received its name from a
huge boulder which once formed the gate to the infernal regions, and was
dropped by Lucifer after a terrible conflict with the Archangel St.
Michael, in which the fiend was worsted by the saint. This stone was
still supposed to be seen by credulous visitors at the "Angel Inn," but
as we were not particularly interested in that angel, who, we inferred,
might have been an angel of darkness, or in a stone of such a doubtful
character, we did not go to the inn.
Helston was one of the Stannary Towns, and it was said that vessels
could at one time come quite near it. Daniel Defoe has described it as
being "large and populous, with four spacious streets, a handsome
church, and a good trade." The good trade was, however, disappearing,
owing to the discovery of tin in foreign countries, notably in the
Straits Settlements and Bolivia; the church which Defoe saw had
disappeared, having since been destroyed by fire and rebuilt in 1763. We
did not go inside, but in walking through the churchyard we casually
came upon an ordinary headstone on which was an inscription to the
effect that the stone marked the resting-place of Henry Trengrouse
(1772-1854), who, being "profoundly impressed by the great loss of life
by shipwreck, had devoted the greater portion of his life and means to
the invention and design of the rocket apparatus for connecting stranded
ships to the shore, whereby many thousands of lives have been saved."
[Illustration: MONUMENT TO HENRY TRENGROUSE. (_Inventor of the rocket
apparatus._)]
We had seen many fine monuments to men who had been instrumental in
killing thousands of their fellow creatures, but here was Trengrouse who
had been the humble instrument in saving thousands of lives, and (though
a suitable monument has since been erected to his memory) only the
commonest stone as yet recorded his memory and the inestimable services
he had rendered to humanity: the only redeeming feature, perhaps, being
the very appropriate quotation on the stone:
They rest from their labours and their works do follow them.
Helston was another town where a lovely double stream of water ran down
the main street, rendering the town by its rapid and perpetual running
both musical and clean. The water probably came from the River Cober,
and afterwards found its way into the Looe Pool at the foot of the town.
This pool was the great attraction of Helston and district, as it formed
a beautiful fresh-water lake about seven miles in circumference and two
miles long, winding like a river through a forked valley, with woods
that in the springtime were filled with lovely wild flowers, reaching to
the water's edge. It must have been a paradise for one fisherman at any
rate, as he held his tenure on condition that he provided a boat and net
in case the Duke of Cornwall, its owner, should ever come to fish there;
so we concluded that if the Duke never came, the tenant would have all
the fish at his own disposal. The curious feature about the lake was
that, owing to a great bank of sand and pebbles that reached across the
mouth, it had no visible outlet where it reached the sea, the water
having to percolate as best it could through the barrier. When heavy
rain came on and the River Cober delivered a greater volume of water
than usual into the lake, the land adjoining was flooded, and it became
necessary to ask permission of the lord of the manor to cut a breach
through the pebbles in order to allow the surplus water to pass through
into the sea, which was quite near. The charge for this privilege was
one penny and one halfpenny, which had to be presented in a leather
purse; but this ancient ceremony was afterwards done away with and a
culvert constructed. On this pebble bank one of the King's frigates was
lost in 1807.
[Illustration: A STREET IN HELSTON. (_Showing the running stream of
water at the side of the street._)]
There is a passage in the book of Genesis which states that "there were
giants in the earth in those days"--a passage which we had often heard
read in the days of our youth, when we wished it had gone further and
told us something about them; but Cornwall had been a veritable land of
giants. The stories of Jack the Giant-Killer were said to have emanated
from this county, and we now heard of the Giant Tregeagle, whose spirit
appeared to pervade the whole district through which we were passing.
He was supposed to be the Giant of Dosmary Pool, on the Bodmin Downs,
which was believed at one time to be a bottomless pit. When the wind
howls there the people say it is the Giant roaring, and "to roar like
Tregeagle" was quite a common saying in those parts. "His spirit haunts
all the west of Cornwall, and he haunts equally the moor, the rocky
coasts, and the blown sandhills; from north to south, from east to west,
this doomed spirit was heard of, and to the Day of Judgment he was
doomed to wander pursued by avenging fiends. Who has not heard the
howling of Tregeagle? When the storms come with all their strength from
the Atlantic, and hurl themselves upon the rocks about the Land's End,
the howls of this spirit are louder than the roaring of the wind."
In this land of legends, therefore, it is not surprising that the
raising of that extraordinary bank which blocks the end of the River
Cober, at what should be its outlet into the sea, should be ascribed to
Tregeagle. It appeared that he was an extremely wicked steward, who by
robbery and other worse crimes became very wealthy. In the first place
he was said to have murdered his sister, and to have been so cruel to
his wife and children that one by one they perished. But at length his
end came, and as he lay on his death-bed the thoughts of the people he
had murdered, starved, and plundered, and his remorseful conscience, so
haunted him, that he sent for the monks from a neighbouring monastery
and offered them all his wealth if they would save his soul from the
fiends. They accepted his offer, and both then and after he had been
buried in St. Breock's Church they sang chants and recited prayers
perpetually over his grave, by which means they kept back the demons
from his departing soul. But a dispute arose between two wealthy
families concerning the ownership of some land near Bodmin. It appeared
that Tregeagle, as steward to one of the claimants, had destroyed
ancient deeds, forged others, and made it appear that the property was
his own. The defendant in the trial by some means or other succeeded in
breaking the bonds of death, and the spirit of Tregeagle was summoned to
attend the court as witness.
When his ghostly form appeared, the court was filled with horror. In
answer to counsel's questions he had to acknowledge his frauds, and the
jury returned a verdict for the defendants. The judge then ordered
counsel to remove his witness, but, alas! it was easier to raise evil
spirits than to lay them, and they could not get rid of Tregeagle. The
monks were then sent for, and said that by long trials he might repent
and his sins be expiated in that way. They would not or could not hand
him over to the fiends, but they would give him tasks to do that would
be endless. First of all they gave him the task of emptying Dosmary
Pool, supposed to be bottomless, with a small perforated limpet shell.
Here, however, he narrowly escaped falling into the hands of the demons,
and only saved himself by running and dashing his head through the
window of Roach Rock Church. His terrible cries drove away the
congregation, and the monks and priests met together to decide what
could be done with him, as no service could be held in the church.
[Illustration: KYNANCE COVE AND THE LION ROCK. "The fine rock scenery on
the coast continues all the way to Land's End, while isolated rocks in
many forms and smugglers' caves of all sizes are to be seen."]
[Illustration: NEAR THE LIZARD. "The Lizard Point with the neighbouring
rocks, both when submerged and otherwise, formed a most dangerous place
for mariners, especially when false lights were displayed by those
robbers and murderers, the Cornish Wreckers."]
They decided that Tregeagle, accompanied by two saints to guard him,
should be taken to the coast at Padstow, and compelled to stay on the
sandy shore making trusses of sand and ropes of sand to bind them, while
the mighty sea rose continually and washed them away. The people at
Padstow could get no rest day or night on account of his awful cries of
fear and despair, and they sought the aid of the great Cornish Saint
Petrox. The saint subdued Tregeagle, and chained him with bonds,
every link of which he welded with a prayer. St. Petrox placed him at
Bareppa, and condemned him to carry sacks of sand across the estuary of
St. Looe and empty them at Porthleven until the beach was clean to the
rocks. He laboured a long time at that work, but in vain, for the tide
round Treawavas Head always carried the sand back again. His cries and
wails disturbed the families of the fishermen, but a mischievous demon
came along, and, seeing him carrying an enormous sack full of sand and
pebbles, tripped him up. Tregeagle fell, and the sack upset and formed
the bar that ruined the harbour of Helston, which up to that time had
been a prosperous port, the merchant vessels landing cargoes and taking
back tin in exchange. The townspeople, naturally very wroth, sought the
aid of the priests, and once more bonds were placed upon Tregeagle. This
time he was sent to the Land's End, where he would find very few people
to hear his awful cries. There his task was to sweep the sands from
Porthcurnow Cove, round the headland called Tol-Peden-Penwith, into
Nanjisal Cove. At this task, it is said, Tregeagle is still labouring,
his wails and moans being still borne on the breeze that sweeps over the
Land's End; so as this was our destination, we had rather a queer
prospect before us!
Between Gweek and Helston we crossed the famous promontory known as the
Lizard, which in length and breadth extends about nine miles in each
direction, although the point itself is only two miles broad. The rocks
at this extremity rise about 250 feet above the stormy sea below, and
are surmounted by a modern lighthouse.
Originally there was only a beacon light with a coal fire fanned with
bellows, but oil was afterwards substituted. The Lizard Point in those
days, with the neighbouring rocks, both when submerged and otherwise,
formed a most dangerous place for mariners, especially when false lights
were displayed by those robbers and murderers, the Cornish wreckers.
The Lizard, the Corinum of the ancients, is the most southerly point in
England, and the fine rock scenery on the coast continues from there all
the way to the Land's End, while isolated rocks in many forms and
smugglers' caves of all sizes are to be seen. Weird legends connected
with these and the Cornish coast generally had been handed down from
father to son from remote antiquity, and the wild and lonely Goonhilly
Downs, that formed the centre of the promontory, as dreary a spot as
could well be imagined, had a legend of a phantom ship that glided over
them in the dusk or moonlight, and woe betide the mariners who happened
to see it, for it was a certain omen of evil!
The finest sight that we saw here was in broad daylight, and consisted
of an immense number of sailing-ships, more in number than we could
count, congregated together on one side of the Lizard. On inquiring the
reason, we were told that they were wind-bound vessels waiting for a
change in the wind to enable them to round the point, and that they had
been known to wait there a fortnight when unfavourable winds prevailed.
This we considered one of the most wonderful sights we had seen on our
journey.
As we left Helston on our way to Penzance we had the agreeable company
as far as St. Breage of a young Cornishman, who told us we ought to
have come to Helston in May instead of November, for then we should have
seen the town at its best, especially if we had come on the "Flurry"
day. This he said was the name of their local yearly festival, held on
or near May 8th, and he gave us quite a full account of what generally
happened on that occasion. We could easily understand, from what he told
us, that he had enjoyed himself immensely on the day of the last
festival, which seemed to be quite fresh in his mind, although now more
than six months had passed since it happened. In fact he made us wish
that we had been there ourselves, as his story awoke some memories in
our minds of--
The days we went a-gipsying a long time ago
When lads and lasses in their best were dressed from top to toe,
When hearts were light and faces bright, nor thought of care or woe,
In the days we went a-gipsying a long time ago!
[Illustration: THE "FLURRY" DANCE.]
His description of the brass band of which he was a member, and the way
they were dressed, and the adventures they met with during the day, from
early morning till late at night, was both interesting and amusing.
Their first duty was to play round the town to waken people who were
already awake--sleep was out of the question--children too had a share
in the proceedings. They knew that booths or standings would be erected
all over the town, some even on the footpath, displaying all manner of
cakes, toffy, and nuts that would delight their eyes and sweeten their
mouths, if they had the money wherewith to buy, and if not, there was
the chance of persuading some stranger to come to the rescue! But first
of all they must rush to the woods and fields in search of flowers and
branches, for the town had to be decorated before the more imposing part
of the ceremonies began. Meantime the bandsmen were busy devouring a
good breakfast, for bandsmen's appetites are proverbial. Perhaps they
are the only class of men who play while they work and work while they
play. In any case, after breakfast they sauntered round the town talking
to the girls until the auspicious hour arrived when they had to assemble
in the market square to head the procession of the notables of the town
dressed in all kinds of costumes, from that of William the Conqueror
onwards. My brother was anxious to know what quickstep they played, and
if it was "Havelock's Quick March"; but our friend said it was not a
quickstep at all, but something more like a hornpipe. Was it the College
or the Sailor's Hornpipe? It was neither, was the reply, as it had to be
played slowly, for the people danced to it while they marched in the
procession, and occasionally twirled their partners round; and then
after some further ceremonies they separated and all the people began to
dance both in the streets and through the houses, going in at one door
and out at another, if there was one, tumbling about and knocking things
over, and then out in the street again, and if not satisfied with their
partners, changing them, and off again, this kind of enjoyment lasting
for hours. Sometimes, if a man-of-war happened to be in the
neighbourhood, the sailors came, who were the best dancers of the lot,
as they danced with each other and threw their legs about in a most
astonishing fashion, a practice they were accustomed to when aboard
ship.
There were also shows and sometimes a circus, and the crowds that came
from the country were astonishing. Now and then there was a bit of a
row, when some of them had "a drop o' drink," but the police were about,
and not afraid to stop their games by making free use of their staves;
this, however, was the shady side of the great "Flurry" day.
Meantime every one had learned the strange dance-tune by heart, which
our friend whistled for us, whereby we could tell it had come down from
remote times. Indeed, it was said that these rejoicings were originally
in memory of the victory of the great Michael over the Devil, and no one
thought of suggesting a more modern theory than that the "Flurry" was a
survival of the Floralia observed by the Romans on the fourth of the
Calends of May in honour of Flora, the Goddess of Flowers.
The very mention of the names of band and hornpipe was too much for my
brother, who could not resist giving the Cornishman a few samples of the
single and double shuffle in the College Hornpipe, and one or two
movements from a Scotch Reel, but as I was no dancer myself, I had no
means of judging the quality of his performances. I kept a respectful
distance away, as sometimes his movements were very erratic, and his
boots, like those of the Emperor Frederick, were rather heavy. We could
not persuade our friend to come with us a yard farther than the village.
As a fellow bandsman, he confided the reason why to my brother; he had
seen a nice young lady at the "Flurry" who came from that village, and
he was going to see her now. He was standing in the street on the
"Flurry" day when the lady came along, and stopped to look at the
bandsmen, who were then at liberty, and he said to her jocularly, "Take
my arm, love--I'm in the band," and, "By Jove," he said, "if she didn't
come and take it," to his great astonishment and delight. Apparently his
heart went at the same time, and we surmised that everything else would
shortly follow. After bidding him good-bye, we looked round the church,
and then my brother began to walk at an appalling speed, which
fortunately he could not keep up, and which I attributed in some way to
the effect of the bandsman's story, though he explained that we must try
to reach Penzance before dark.
The church of St. Breage was dedicated to a saint named Breaca, sister
of St. Enny, who lived in the sixth century and came from Ireland. There
was a holed sandstone cross in the churchyard, which tradition asserted
was made out of granite sand and then hardened with human blood! The
tower was said to contain the largest bell in Cornwall, it having been
made in the time of a vicar who, not liking the peals, had all the other
bells melted down to make one large one. The men of St. Breage and those
of the next village, St. Germoe, had an evil reputation as wreckers or
smugglers, for one old saying ran:
God keep us from rocks and shelving sands,
And save us from Breage and Germoe men's hands.
Opposite Breage, on the sea-coast, was a place named Porthleven, where a
Wesleyan chapel, with a very handsome front, had been built. No doubt
there are others in the country built in a similar way, for to it and
them the following lines might well apply:
They built the church, upon my word,
As fine as any abbey;
And then they thought to cheat the Lord,
And built the back part shabby.
After a walk of about two miles we arrived at the village of St. Germoe.
The saint of that name was said to have been an Irish bard of royal
race, and the font in the church, from its plain and rough form, was
considered to be one of the most ancient in the county. In the
churchyard was a curious structure which was mentioned by Leland as a
"chair," and was locally known as St. Germoe's Chair, but why it should
be in the churchyard was a mystery, unless it had been intended to mark
the spot where the saint had been buried. It was in the form of a
sedilium, the seat occupied by the officiating priest near the altar in
the chancel of a church, being about six feet high and formed of three
sedilia, with two pillars supporting three arches, which in turn
supported the roof; in general form it was like a portion of the row of
seats in a Roman amphitheatre.
On the opposite coast, which was only about a mile away, was the famous
Prussia Cove, named after a notorious smuggler who bore the nickname of
the King of Prussia; and adjoining his caves might still be seen the
channels he had cut in the solid rock to enable his boats to get close
to the shore. His real name was Carter. He became the leader of the
Cornish smugglers, and kept the "Old King of Prussia Inn," though having
the reputation of being a "devout Methodist." He was said to be so
named because he bore some resemblance to Frederick the Great, the King
of Prussia. We had seen other inns in the south of the same name, but
whether they were named after the king or the smuggler we could not say.
He seemed to have had other caves on the Cornish coast where he stored
his stolen treasures, amongst which were some old cannon.
One moonlight night, when he was anxiously waiting and watching for the
return of his boats, he saw them in the distance being rapidly pursued
by His Majesty's Revenue cutter the _Fairy_. The smuggler placed his
cannon on the top of the cliff and gave orders to his men to fire on the
_Fairy_, which, as the guns on board could not be elevated sufficiently
to reach the top of the cliff, was unable to reply. Thus the boats
escaped; but early the following morning the Revenue boat again
appeared, and the officer and some of the crew came straight to Carter's
house, where they met the smuggler. He loudly complained to the officer
that his crew should come there practising the cutter's guns at midnight
and disturbing the neighbourhood. Carter of course could give no
information about the firing of any other guns, and suggested it might
be the echo of those fired from the _Fairy_ herself, nor could any other
explanation be obtained in the neighbourhood where Carter was well
known, so the matter was allowed to drop. But the old smuggler was more
sharply looked after in future, and though he lived to a great age, he
died in poverty.
Our road crossed the Perran Downs, where, to the left, stood the small
village of Perranuthnoe, a place said to have existed before the time of
St. Piran and named Lanudno in the taxation of Pope Nicholas. It was
also pointed out as the place where Trevelyan's horse landed him when he
escaped the inrush of the sea which destroyed Lyonesse, "that sweet land
of Lyonesse," which was inseparably connected with the name of King
Arthur, who flourished long before the age of written records. Lyonesse
was the name of the district which formerly existed between the Land's
End and the Scilly Islands, quite twenty-five miles away. When the waves
from the Atlantic broke through, Trevelyan happened to be riding on a
white horse of great swiftness. On seeing the waters rushing forward to
overwhelm the country, he rode for his life and was saved by the speed
of his horse. He never stopped until he reached Perranuthnoe, where the
rocks stopped the sea's farther progress. But when he looked back, he
could see nothing but a wide expanse of water covering no less than 140
parish churches. He lived afterwards in the cave in the rocks which has
ever since borne the name of Trevelyan's Cave. It was beyond doubt that
some great convulsion of nature had occurred to account for the
submerged forests, of which traces were still known to exist.
Soon afterwards we reached a considerable village bearing the strange
name of Marazion, a place evidently once of some importance and at one
time connected with the Jews, for there were the Jews' Market and some
smelting-places known as the Jews' Houses. Here we came to the small
rock surmounted by a castle which we had seen in front of our track for
some miles without knowing what it was. Now we discovered it to be the
far-famed St. Michael's Mount. According to legend this once stood in a
vast forest of the mysterious Lyonesse, where wild beasts roamed, and
where King Arthur fought one of his many battles with a giant at the
"Guarded Mount," as Milton has so aptly named it.
As we were told that the Mount was only about half a mile away, we
decided to visit it, and walked as quickly as we could along the
rough-paved road leading up to it. On the Mount we could see the lights
being lit one by one as we approached, and, in spite of the arrival of
the first quarter of the moon, it was now becoming dark, so we discussed
the advisability of staying at St. Michael's for the night; but we
suddenly came to a point on our road where the water from the sea was
rushing over it, and realised that St. Michael's Mount was an island. We
could see where the road reappeared a little farther on, and I
calculated that if we made a dash for it the water would not reach above
our knees, but it was quite evident that we had now come to a dead stop.
The rock by this time looked much higher, spreading its shadow over the
water beneath, and the rather serious question arose as to how or when
we should be able to get back again, for we had to reach Land's End on
the next day. Finally we decided to retrace our steps to Marazion, where
we learned that the road to the Mount was only available under
favourable conditions for about eight hours out of the twenty-four, and
as our rules would have prevented our returning by boat, we were glad we
had not proceeded farther.
[Illustration: ST. MICHAEL'S MOUNT.]
According to the _Saxon Chronicle_, the inroad from the sea which
separated St. Michael's from the mainland occurred in 1099. The Mount
had a sacred character, for St. Michael himself was said to have
appeared to a holy man who once resided there, and St. Keyne also had
made a pilgrimage to the Mount in the year 490.
The rock rises about 230 feet above sea-level, and is about a mile in
circumference, but the old monastery had been made into a private
residence. At an angle in one of the towers, now called St. Michael's
Chair, in which one person only could sit at a time, and that not
without danger, as the chair projected over a precipice, was a stone
lantern in which the monks formerly kept a light to guide seamen. The
legend connected with this was that if a married woman sits in the chair
before her husband has done so, she will rule over him, but if he sits
down on it first, he will be the master. We thought this legend must
have resulted from the visit of St. Keyne, as it corresponded with that
attached to her well near Liskeard which we have already recorded.
Perkin Warbeck, about whom we had heard at Exeter, and who in 1497
appeared in England with 7,000 men to claim the English throne, occupied
the castle on St. Michael's Mount for a short time with his beautiful
wife, the "White Rose of Scotland," whom he left here for safety while
he went forward to London to claim the crown. He was said to be a Jew,
or, to be correct, the son of a Tournai Jew, which possibly might in
some way or other account for the Jewish settlement at Marazion. His
army, however, was defeated, and he was hanged at Tyburn, November 23rd,
1499, while his wife was afterwards removed to the Court of Henry VII,
where she received every consideration and was kindly treated.
We soon covered the three miles which separated us from Penzance, where
we went to the best hotel in the town, arriving just in time for dinner.
There was only one other visitor there, a gentleman who informed us he
had come from Liverpool, where he was in the timber trade, and was
staying at Penzance for a few days. He asked what business we were in,
and when we told him we had practically retired from business in 1868,
and that that was the reason why we were able to spare nine weeks to
walk from John o' Groat's to Land's End, he seemed considerably
surprised. We did not think then that in a few years' time we should,
owing to unexpected events, find ourselves in the same kind of business
as his, and meet that same gentleman on future occasions!
We shall always remember that night at Penzance! The gentleman sat at
the head of the table at dinner while we sat one on each side of him.
But though he occupied the head position, we were head and shoulders
above him in our gastronomical achievements--so much so that although he
had been surprised at our long walk, he told us afterwards that he was
"absolutely astounded" at our enormous appetites.
He took a great interest in our description of the route we had
followed. Some of the places we had visited he knew quite well, and we
sat up talking about the sights we had seen until it was past
closing-time. When we rose to retire, he said he should esteem it an
honour if we would allow him to accompany us to the Land's End on the
following day to see us "in at the finish." He said he knew intimately
the whole of the coast between Penzance and the Land's End, and could
no doubt show us objects of interest that we might otherwise miss
seeing. We assured him that we should esteem the honour to be ours, and
should be glad to accept his kind offer, informing him that we intended
walking along the coast to the end and then engaging a conveyance to
bring us back again. He thought that a good idea, but as we might have
some difficulty in getting a suitable conveyance at that end of our
journey, he strongly advised our hiring one at Penzance, and offered, if
we would allow him, to engage for us in the morning a trap he had hired
the day before, though we must not expect anything very grand in these
out-of-the-way parts of the country. We thankfully accepted his kind
offer, and this item in the programme being settled, we considered
ourselves friends, and parted accordingly for the night, pleasantly
conscious that even if we did not walk at all on the morrow, we had
secured our average of twenty-five miles daily over the whole of our
journey.
(_Distance walked thirty-four and a half miles_.)
_Saturday, November 18th._
We had ordered breakfast much later than usual to suit the convenience
of our friend, but we were out in the town at our usual early hour, and
were quite astonished at the trees and plants we saw growing in the
grounds and gardens there, some of which could only be grown under glass
farther north. Here they were growing luxuriantly in the open air, some
having the appearance of the palm-trees we had seen pictured in books.
We had been favoured with fairly fine weather for some time, and
although we had passed through many showers, we had not encountered
anything in the nature of continuous rain, although Cornwall is
naturally a humid county, and is said to have a shower of rain for every
day in the week and two for Sunday. We kept near the edge of the sea,
and the view of the bay, with St. Michael's Mount on one side and the
Lizards on the other, was very fine; but the Mount had assumed quite a
different appearance since yesterday, for now it appeared completely
isolated, the connection with the mainland not being visible. We were
sure that both St. Michael's Mount and Penzance must have had an
eventful history, but the chief event in the minds of the people seemed
to have been the visit of the Spaniards when they burnt the town in
1595. The Cornishmen made very little resistance on that occasion, owing
to the existence of an old prophecy foretelling the destruction of
Penzance by fire when the enemy landed on the rock of Merlin, the place
where the Spaniards actually did land. Probably it was impossible to
defend the town against an enemy attacking Penzance from that point, as
it was only about a mile distant.
We returned to our hotel at the time arranged for breakfast, which was
quite ready, the table being laid for three; but where was our friend?
We learned that he had gone out into the town, but we had got half-way
through our breakfast, all the while wondering where he could be, when
the door opened suddenly and in he came, with his face beaming like the
rising sun, although we noticed he glanced rather anxiously in the
direction of the remaining breakfast. He apologised for being late, but
he had not been able to obtain the conveyance he mentioned to us last
night, as it was engaged elsewhere. He had, however, found another which
he thought might suit our purpose, and had arranged for it to be at the
hotel in half an hour's time. He also brought the pleasing intelligence
that we might expect a fine day. The trap duly arrived in charge of the
owner, who was to act as driver; but some difficulty arose, as he had
not quite understood the order. He thought he had simply to drive us to
the Land's End and back, and had contemplated being home again early, so
our friend had to make another financial arrangement before he would
accept the order. This was soon negotiated, but it was very difficult to
arrange further details. Here our friend's intimate knowledge of the
country came in useful. There was no direct driving road along the
coast, so it was arranged that our driver should accompany us where he
could, and then when his road diverged he should meet us at certain
points to be explained by our friend later in the day. Mutual distrust,
we supposed, prevented us from paying him in advance, and possibly
created a suspicion in the driver's mind that there was something wrong
somewhere, and he evidently thought what fools we were to walk all the
way along the coast to Land's End when we might have ridden in his trap.
We journeyed together for the first mile or two, and then he had to
leave us for a time while we trudged along with only our sticks to
carry, for, to make matters equal in that respect, our friend had
borrowed one at the hotel, a much finer-looking one than ours, of which
he was correspondingly proud.
[Illustration: PENZANCE]
[Illustration: DOROTHY PENTREATH'S STONE, ST. PAUL'S CHURCH.]
He insisted upon our seeing everything there was to be seen, and it soon
became evident that what our companion did not know about the fine rock
scenery on this part of the coast of Cornwall was not worth knowing, so
that we were delighted to have him with us. The distance from Penzance
to Land's End was not great, but by the route selected it occupied the
whole of the day, including many stoppages, and we had a glorious walk.
The weather had been rather squally yesterday, and there was a steady
breeze still blowing. We enjoyed seeing the breakers dash themselves
into foam against the rocks and thunder inside the fissures and caverns
below. Occasionally we got a glimpse of the red tinge given to the
smoother waters of the sea by the shoals of pilchards passing along the
coast, so that in the same journey we had seen the water reddened with
herrings in the extreme north and with pilchards in the extreme south of
Britain.
At Newlyn we were delighted with the quaint, crooked little passages
which did duty for streets, and we were informed that the place was
noted for artists and fish--a rather strange combination. We learned
that when first the pilchards arrived at Land's End, they divided into
two immense shoals, one going in the direction of Mounts Bay and the
other towards St. Ives Bay, the record catch in a single haul at that
place being 245 millions! There was a saying at Newlyn that it was
unlucky to eat a pilchard from the head, as it should be eaten from its
tail; but why, it was difficult to define, unless it was owing to the
fact that it was the tail that guided the head of the fish towards the
coasts of Cornwall.
We also passed through a village named Paul, which had been modernised
into St. Paul. Its church had a rather lofty tower, which stood on the
hill like a sentinel looking over Mounts Bay. This place was also burnt
by the Spaniards in 1595. It appeared that George Borrow had visited it
on January 15th, 1854, as he passed through on his way to Land's End,
for the following entry appeared in his Diary for that day: "Went to St.
Paul's Church. Saw an ancient tomb with the inscription in Cornish at
north end. Sat in a pew under a black suit of armour belonging to the
Godolphin family, with two swords." We copied this Cornish epitaph as
under:
_Bonnas heb duelth Eu poes Karens wei
tha pobl Bohodzhak Paull han Egles nei_.
which translated means:
Eternal life be his whose loving care
Gave Paul an almshouse, and the church repair.
There was also an epitaph in the churchyard over the grave of an old
lady who died at the age of 102, worded:
Here lyeth interred Dorothy Pentreath, who died in 1778, said to have
been the last person who conversed in the ancient Cornish, the
peculiar language of this county from the earliest records, till it
expired in the eighteenth century in this Parish of St. Paul. This
stone is erected by the Prince Louis Lucien Bonaparte, in union with
the Rev. John Garrett, Vicar of St. Paul 1860.
Under the guidance of our friend, who of course acted as leader, we now
passed on to the famous place known as Mousehole, a picturesque village
in a shady hollow, with St. Clement's Island a little way out to sea in
front. This place, now named Mousehole, was formerly Porth Enys, or the
Island Port, and a quay was built here as early as the year 1392. We saw
the cavern, rather a large one, and near it the fantastic rocks
associated with Merlin the "Prince of Enchanters," some of whose
prophecies applied to Cornwall. At Mousehole there was a large rock
named Merlin's Stone, where the only Spaniards that ever devastated the
shores of England landed in 1595. Merlin's prophecy in the Cornish
language reads:
_Aga syth lyer war and meyne Merlyn
Ava neb syth Leskey Paul, Penzance
hag Newlyn_.
which means, translated:
There shall land on the stone of Merlyn
Those who shall burn Paul, Penzance,
and Newlyn.