LAUNCESTON
Launceston a borrowed name--Celtic system of separation
between town of the castle and town of the church--A
saint’s curse--Old name Dunheved--Castle--Church--Sir
Henry Trecarrel--The river Tamar--Old houses--S.
Clether’s Chapel--Altarnon--The corn man--Cutting a
neck--The Petherwins--Story of S. Padarn--Is visited
by his cousin, Samson--Trewortha Marsh--Kilmar--An
ancient village--Redmire--Cornish bogs--Dozmare
Pool--Lewanick--Cresset-stone--Trecarrel--Old mansions--The
Botathen ghost.
The most singular thing about the former capital of Cornwall is that
it does not bear its true name. Launceston is Llan Stephan, the church
of S. Stephen. Now the church of S. Stephen is on the summit of a hill
on the further side of the river, divided from the town by the ancient
borough of Newport.
The true name of the town is Dunheved. It grew up about the Norman
castle, instead of about the church, and as it grew, and the colony at
S. Stephen’s dwindled, it drew to itself the name of the church town.
Launceston is, in fact, one of those very interesting instances of the
_caer_ and the _llan_, separated the one from the other by a stream.
According to the Celtic system, a church must stand in its own lawn,
surrounded by its own tribesmen, and the chief in his _caer_ or
_dun_ must also be without competing authority surrounded by his own
vassals. Consequently, in Cornwall, churches are, as a rule, away from
the towns, which latter have grown up about the chieftain’s residence,
except in such instances as Padstow and Bodmin, where a religious,
monastic settlement formed the nucleus. Camelford, an old borough
town, is over two miles from its parish church, Lanteglos, without
even a chapel-of-ease in it, an ecclesiastical scandal in the diocese.
Callington, the old capital of the municipality of Galewig, is three
miles from its church of Southill.
The church of Launceston has grown up out of a small chapel erected for
the convenience of those who lived about the castle walls, hangers-on
upon the garrison.
The Norman baron, and perhaps the Saxon eorlderman, liked to have
his chaplain forming part of his household, and much at his disposal
to say mass and sing matins in a chapel to which he could go without
inconvenience, forming part of his residence. But such an arrangement
was alien to Celtic ideas. Among the Celts the saint stood on an
entirely independent footing over against the secular chief, and was in
no way subordinate to him. The chaplain of the Norman might hesitate
about reprimanding too sharply the noble who supplied him with his
bread-and-butter. But the Celtic saint had no scruples of that sort. If
a chief had carried off a widow’s cow, or had snatched a pretty wench
from her parents, the saint seized his staff and went to the _dun_ and
demanded admittance. A saint’s curse was esteemed a most formidable
thing. If unjustly pronounced, it recoiled like a boomerang against him
who had hurled it. Once pronounced, it must produce its effect, and the
only means of averting its fall was to turn it aside against a tree or
a rock, which it shivered to atoms. In this the Celtic saint merely
stepped into the prerogatives of the Druid.
In Cormac’s _Glossary of Old Irishisms_--and Cormac, king-bishop of
Cashel, died in 903--is a curious instance of the force of a curse in
pagan times.
The wife of Caier fell in love with Neidhe the bard, her husband’s
nephew. Now a bard had the privilege of hurling a curse if a request
made by him should be refused, but not else. So the woman, desiring to
be rid of her husband, bade the bard ask of the king a knife which had
been given to him in Alba, on condition that he never parted with it.
Neidhe demanded the knife.
“Woe and alas!” said Caier, “it is prohibited to me to give it away.”
Neidhe was now able to pronounce a _glam dichinn_, or curse. Here it
is:--
“Evil, death, and short life to Caier!
May spears of battle slay Caier;
The rejected of the land be Caier;
Buried under mounds and stones be Caier!”
Caier went out next morning to wash at the well, when he found that
boils and blains had broken out over his face, disqualifying him for
reigning, as a king must be unblemished. He accordingly fled the
country, and concealed his disgrace in the _dun_ on the Old Head of
Kinsale, and Neidhe took to him the wife and throne of his uncle. Caier
remained at Kinsale till he died, blasted by the curse pronounced by
the bard.
The saints did just the same, only not for such scandalous reasons;
they did it in the cause of humanity, and for the protection of the
weak against the strong.
But it will be seen, from what has been said, that the Celtic saint
was a very independent personage, and that he and the chief had their
separate residences. It will be found that usually a stream divided the
territory of the saint from that of the chieftain.
All this in illustration of Llan Stephan and Dunheved, the castle and
the church facing and glowering at each other from opposite heights.
Launceston Castle is Norman. That there stood here a castle in Celtic
times is certain; the name Dunheved indicates as much. The _heved_
in composition is a difficulty. Some suppose it a Saxon addition:
_haefod_, a head; but it is more probable that the whole name is
Celtic, and signifies the summer _dun_. _Hafod_ is a summer residence
in contradistinction to a _hendre_, which is that for the winter--the
old house, in principal use. The keep consists of concentric rings on a
mound natural originally, but much adapted by art. That the castle was
employed to dominate the West Welsh, first by the Saxons and then by
the Normans, is indisputable. It formed one in a chain of fortresses
employed by the Saxon kings, of which Warbstow and Helborough and
Killibury were others. That the garrison of Warbstow was composed of
Mercians is probable, as they dedicated their chapel to S. Werburga,
a Mercian princess-saint. Another contingent was planted at Wembury,
commanding Plymouth harbour, where also they introduced the same saint,
who really had no “call” to come into these parts.
The parish church of Launceston, dedicated to S. Mary Magdalen,
is a very interesting structure externally, of carved granite of
extraordinary but somewhat barbaric richness.
The church was begun in 1511. Henry Trecarell, of Trecarell, in Lezant,
was rebuilding his mansion there in great splendour. He had already
constructed a chapel and a noble banqueting hall, and had got masses
of carved granite ready for a gateway, when his only son, a child,
was drowned in a basin of water whilst the nurse was bathing him, she
having left him for a few moments. The mother survived the shock only a
few hours. Henry Trecarell, the father, dropped for ever the intended
mansion for himself, and devoted his wealth to a higher ambition--the
glory of God. He rebuilt not only the church of Linkinhorne, but also
that of Launceston. On the south porch of the latter on a shield appear
the Trecarell arms, arg. two chevrons _sable_, which are those of Ashe
of Devon, Trecarell being really an Ashe, but he bore the name of his
Cornish residence. On a scroll is the date 1511. The niche over the
door has lost its image, but on the left are S. George and the dragon,
and on the right S. Martin dividing his cloak with a beggar. Above S.
George is the Good Samaritan, and above S. Martin is Balaam striking
his ass.
At the east end of the chancel, externally in the central gable, are
the royal arms, the supporters of which are the lion and red dragon
(the unicorn was substituted for the dragon by James I. in 1603). Under
the sill of this window, in an arched recess, is a recumbent figure of
the Magdalen. Four surpliced minstrels are on each side of the niche,
and above the line of the niche similar figures ascend in pairs, but
those in the two topmost storeys seem never to have been completed. The
instruments which these musicians hold are the rebec, the lute, the
bagpipe, shawm, and harps, and one plays the viol, turning a handle
like a hurdy-gurdy. The leader of each set of minstrels carries a
_bâton_, and wears a chain about his neck.
The devices carved round the church are repetitions of the plumes of
the Prince of Wales, pomegranates, balm-plants dropping precious gums,
the Tudor rose, and the arms of Trecarell, Kellaway (three pears), and
the castle of Dunheved. Above the plinth encircling the building is a
line of panelled tracery. In every alternate panel is a shield, bearing
a letter, that make up the words: “Ave Maria, gracia plena! Dominus
tecum! Sponsus amat sponsum. Maria optimam partem elegit. O quam
terribilis ac metuendus est locus iste! Vere aliud non est hic nisi
domus Dei et porta celi” (“Hail, Mary, full of grace! The Lord be with
thee! The bridegroom loves the bride. Mary hath chosen the best part.
Oh, how terrible and fearful is this place! Truly this is no other than
the house of God and the gate of heaven”).
The church was consecrated on June 18th, 1524. It was never completed,
as may be seen by the condition of the west end. The tower belongs
to the earlier church, and is twenty-six feet west of the church.
Trecarell doubtless intended to rebuild that in a stately style
according with the church, but the religious disturbances of the
Reformation took all heart out of him, and he abandoned his task.
The interior is very disappointing, but it must be remembered it was
intended to have a screen of surpassing richness, which would have
brought the whole into proportion. The pulpit alone was completed, and
that is of singular richness. The modern carving in the church is thin
and fanciful.
The neighbourhood of Launceston is rich in objects of interest and
scenes of great beauty. The Inney valley will well repay a visit.
There is an Inney also in South Wales. It is an excellent stream for
fishing, and flows into the Tamar at Cartamartha (_Caer Tamar_), in a
glen of wooded loveliness. The unfinished mansion of Trecarell deserves
a visit. There are also old houses at Treguddic and Basil, both much
spoiled by bad “restoration.” On the heights commanding the river
are Laneast, with old bench-ends, old glass, and a holy well, and S.
Clether, with its well chapel, recently reconstructed. It was in a
condition of complete ruin; almost every stone was prostrate, and the
rebuilding was like the putting together of a child’s puzzle. At the
north-east of the chapel is a rather fine holy well, about three feet
six inches from the north wall. A description has already been given
in the chapter on holy wells, and the explanation of some very curious
features in it.
But there is one further feature of interest in this structure that
deserves to be noted. The old granite altar, rude, like a cromlech, had
never been cast down. It remained intact, and has been left intact in
the reconstructed chapel.
S. Clether was the son of Clydwyn, king of Carmarthen. Clydwyn’s
sister was married to an Irish priest, Brynach, who, on account of
the ill-favour in which the Irish were regarded in South Wales, moved
into Cornwall and Devon. After a long while he returned, but was again
badly received. However, Clether welcomed him, and Brynach spoke to
his nephew of the God-forsaken condition of North Cornwall, and an
overpowering impulse came over the king to surrender his principality
to his sons, and to depart for Cornwall, there to labour for the
evangelisation of his Welsh brethren in the peninsula. He had relatives
there. His uncle Gwynys was at S. Genes, on the coast, and his aunt
Morwenna at Morwenstow. How long he remained at S. Clether we do not
know, but he probably moved on to S. Cleer, near Liskeard, where also
he has a fine holy well, and there died. We do not know the precise
date, but it was about A.D. 550.[5]
A very fine and interesting church, deserving a visit, is that of
Altarnon (_Alt-ar-Nôn_, the cliff of S. Non). The village is called
Penpont (the head of the bridge). The church is rich in carved oak,
benches, and screen. On several of the benches may be seen carved the
corn man, that is to say the little figure that was plaited out of the
heads of wheat in the last sheaf at a harvest.
About this and the custom of “crying, ‘A neck!’” at harvest I will say
a few words.
Towards the end of last century the member for North Devon was
extremely unpopular, especially with the lower classes, and there had
been a disturbance on the occasion of his election, in which he had run
some personal risk. The time was when Lord North was Prime Minister.
Not long after the election he went to Dunsland, the seat of George
Bickford.
Whilst strolling near the house he came near a harvest field, whereon
he saw a rush of men, and he heard a cry of “Us have’n! us have’n! A
neck! a neck!”
Panic-stricken, he ran, nimble as a hare, to the house, and shouted to
Mr. Bickford, “For God’s sake, hide me, anywhere, in the cellar or the
attics! There is a mob after me who want to string me up!”
What the M.P. for North Devon saw and heard was the “crying, ‘A neck!’”
a custom universal in Devon and Cornwall till reaping machines came in
and abolished it. It is now most rarely practised, but I can remember
it in full swing some forty or fifty years ago.
Mrs. Bray, in her _Borders of the Tamar and Tavy_, thus describes it in
1832:--
“One evening, about the end of harvest, I was riding out
on my pony, attended by a servant who was born and bred a
Devonian. We were passing near a field on the borders of
Dartmoor, where the reapers were assembled. In a moment
the pony started nearly from one side of the way to the
other, so sudden came a shout from the field which gave him
this alarm. On my stopping to ask my servant what all that
noise was about, he seemed surprised by the question, and
said, ‘it was only the people making their games, as they
always did, to the _spirit of the harvest_.’ Such a reply
was quite sufficient to induce me to stop immediately, as I
felt certain here was to be observed some curious vestige
of a most ancient superstition; and I soon gained all the
information I could wish to obtain upon the subject. The
offering to the ‘spirit of the harvest’ is thus made:--
“When the reaping is finished, towards evening the
labourers select some of the best ears of corn from the
sheaves; these they tie together, and it is called the
_nack_. Sometimes, as it was when I witnessed the custom,
the nack is decorated with flowers, twisted in with the
seed, which gives it a gay and fantastic appearance. The
reapers then proceed to a _high place_ (such, in fact,
was the field, on the side of a steep hill, where I saw
them), and there they go, to use their own words, to ‘holla
the nack.’ The man who bears the offering stands in the
midst and elevates it, whilst all the other labourers form
themselves into a circle about him; each holds aloft his
hook, and in a moment they all shout as loud as they can
these words, which I spell as I heard them pronounced, and
I presume they are not to be found in any written record:
‘Arnack, arnack, arnack, wehaven, wehaven, wehaven.’ This
is repeated several times; and the firkin is handed round
between each shout, by way, I conclude, of libation. When
the weather is fine, different parties of reapers, each
stationed on some height, may be heard for miles round,
shouting, as it were, in answer to each other.
“The evening I witnessed this ceremony many women and
children, some carrying boughs, and others having flowers
in their caps, or in their hands, or in their bonnets, were
seen, some dancing, others singing, whilst the men (whose
exclamations so startled my pony) practised the above rites
in a ring.”
Mrs. Bray goes on to add a good deal of antiquated archæological
nonsense about Druids, Phœnicians, and fantastic derivations. She
makes “wehaven” to be “a corruption of _wee ane_,” “a little one,”
which is rubbish. “Wehaven” is “we have’n,” or “us have’n,” “we have
got him.” As I remember the crying of the neck at Lew Trenchard, there
was a slight difference in the procedure from that described by Mrs.
Bray. The field was reaped till a portion was left where was the best
wheat, and then the circle was formed, the men shouted, “A neck! A
neck! We have’n!” and proceeded to reap it. Then it was hastily bound
in a bundle, the ears were plaited together with flowers at the top of
the sheaf, and this was heaved up, with the sickles raised, and a great
shout of “A neck! A neck!” etc., again, and the drink, of course.
The wheat of the last sheaf was preserved apart through the winter,
and was either mixed with the seed-corn next year or given to the best
bullock.
My old coachman, William Pengelly, who had been with my grandfather,
father, and then with myself, and who died at an advanced age in 1894,
was wont annually, till he became childish with age, to make the little
corn man or neck, and bring it to be set up in the church for the
harvest decorations. I kept a couple of these for some years, till the
mice got at them and destroyed them.
In Essex a stranger passing a harvest field stands the chance of
being run up to by the harvesters, caught in a loop of straw twisted,
and held till he has paid a forfeit. To the present day in Devon, at
haysel, the haymakers will make a twist of dry grass, and with this
band catch a girl--or a girl will catch a boy--and hold her or him till
the forfeit of a kiss has been paid, and this is called “making sweet
hay.”
Hereby hangs a tale.
The Quakers in Cornwall have, as elsewhere, their Monthly Advices read
to them in the meeting-house, wherein are admonitions against various
sorts of evil. Among these is one against “vain sports.” Now, just
about haymaking-time a newly-joined member heard this injunction, and
he timidly inquired whether “making sweet hay with the mīdens” came
under the category. “Naw, sure!” was the answer; “that’s a’ i’ the way
o’ Natur’.”
Our Guy Fawkes is actually the straw man transferred from harvest to
November.
These straw men take the place of human victims, and the redemption
with silver or a kiss is also a last reminiscence of the capture of a
victim to be sacrificed for the sake of a future harvest to the Earth
Spirit. In Poland the man who gives the last stroke at thrashing is
wrapped in corn and wheeled through the village. In Bavaria he is tied
up in straw and cast on a dunghill.
Among the Pawnees, as late as 1838, the sacrifice was carried out in
grim reality. A girl was burnt over a slow fire, and whilst her flesh
was still warm it was cut to pieces, and bits were carried away to
be buried in the cornfields. At Lagos, in Guinea, it was till quite
recently the custom to impale a young girl alive to ensure good crops.
A similar sacrifice was offered at Benin. The Marimos, a Bechuana
tribe, sacrifice a human being for the crops. He is captured, then
intoxicated, carried into the fields, and there slaughtered. His blood
and ashes, after the body has been burned, are distributed over the
tilled land to ensure a good harvest next year. The Gonds of India
kidnapped Brahman boys for the same purpose. The British Government had
to act with great resolution in putting down the similar sacrifices of
the Khonds some half-century ago.
The mode of performing these sacrifices was as follows. Ten or twelve
days before the sacrifice the victim’s hair was cut. Crowds assembled
to witness the sacrifice. On the day before, the victim was tied to
a post and anointed with oil. Great struggles ensued to scrape off
some of this oil or to obtain a drop of spittle from the victim. The
crowd danced round the post, saying, “O god, we offer this sacrifice
for good crops, seasons, and health.” On the day of the sacrifice the
legs and arms were first broken, and he was either squeezed to death
or strangled. Then the crowd rushed on him with knives and hacked
the flesh from the bones. Sometimes he was cut up alive. Another very
common mode was to fasten the victim to the proboscis of a wooden
elephant, which revolved on a stout post, and as it whirled round the
crowd cut the flesh off while life remained. In some villages as many
as fourteen of these wooden elephants were found, all of which had been
used for this purpose. In one district the victim was put to death
slowly by fire. A low stage was erected, sloping on each side like
a roof; upon this the victim was placed, his limbs wound about with
cords to prevent his escape. Fires were then lighted and hot brands
applied to make him roll up and down the slopes of the stage as much
as possible, for the more tears he shed the more abundant would be the
supply of rain. The next day the body was cut to pieces. The flesh was
at once taken home by delegates of the villages. To secure its rapid
arrival it was sometimes forwarded by relays of men, and conveyed
with postal fleetness fifty or sixty miles. In each village all who
had remained at home fasted until the flesh arrived. When it came it
was divided into two portions, one of which was offered to the Earth
Goddess by burying it in a hole in the ground. The other portion was
divided into as many shares as there were heads of houses present.
Each head of a house rolled his share in leaves and buried it in his
favourite field. In some places each man carried his portion of flesh
to the stream that watered his fields.
Since the British Government has suppressed the human sacrifices
inferior victims have been substituted, such as goats.
Here, then, we have almost before our eyes a change of the victim. A
still further change takes place when an image is used as a substitute;
and there is again modification when the person captured and destined
for sacrifice is allowed to redeem himself with a handsel or a kiss.
But the fact that in Europe, aye, and in England, we have these
modified customs only now dying out, is an almost sure proof that at a
remote period our ancestors practised the awful rites at harvest and
in spring, of which a description has been given as still in use in
Africa, and as only just put an end to in America and in India.
North and west of Launceston is the Petherwin district; the former
of these is in Devon, although lying west of the Tamar, as is also
Werrington.
These three churches, all dedicated to S. Padarn, form a large
territory once under his government. It was his Gwynedd, but whether so
called from its being open moorland or from its being exposed to the
winds--windblown (_Gwynt_)--I cannot say. Padarn was son of Pedredin
and Gwen Julitta, and was first cousin of S. Samson. He was born in
Brittany, but owing to a family revolution his father and uncles fled
to Wales, but Padarn remained as a babe with his mother. Finding her
often in tears, he asked her the reason, and she told him that she
mourned the loss of his father. So when Padarn had come to man’s estate
he went in quest of him, and finally found him in Ireland, where, old
rascal, he had embraced the monastic life, entirely regardless of
what was due to the wife of his bosom. As Pedredin absolutely refused
to leave his newly-chosen mode of life, Padarn returned to his mother,
and they went together to Wales, passing through Cornwall. In Wales he
founded Llanbadarn Fawr in Cardiganshire, which became an episcopal
see; but he got across with Maelgwn, king of North Wales, as also with
King Arthur, who in the lives of the Welsh saints is always represented
as a bully, showing that they were written before that king had been
elevated into the position of a hero of romance by Geoffrey of Monmouth
in the twelfth century. His position now became untenable, and he left
Wales. It was then, I presume, that he made his great settlement in
East Cornwall.
According to one account he crossed into Brittany with Caradoc
Strong-i’-th’-Arm, but the expedition ended in no results, and he
returned. Now after a while Cousin Samson arrived in Padstow harbour,
and resolved on making a Cornish tour before he crossed into Brittany,
whither he much desired to go and see what could be done towards the
recovery of his paternal acres. At Padstow he visited S. Petrock. Then
he went along the north-east, and as he approached Gwynedd, or Padarn’s
Venedotia, he sent word that he was coming. Now Padarn was getting out
of bed when the tidings reached him, and he had pulled on one stocking
and shoe; but so delighted was he to hear that his cousin was at hand,
that he ran to meet him with one leg shod and the other bare.
[Illustration: TREWORTHA MARSH]
The dates of his life are approximately these. He came to Wales in
525, remained there till 547, when he migrated to Devon and Cornwall,
where he remained to his death in 560.[6] When the Saxons obtained the
mastery, North Petherwin and Werrington were given to the abbey of
Tavistock, and the old Celtic foundation of Padarn ceased--monastically.
A pleasant excursion may be made from Launceston to Trewartha Marsh.
This occupies the site of a lake, but it has been filled by detritus
from the granite tors around, and this rubble has been turned over and
over by tin-streamers, who not only extracted the baser metal, but also
gold.
On the way Trebartha is passed, one of the loveliest sites in England,
second in my mind only to Bolton Abbey. It is the seat of F. R. Rodd,
Esq. The parish church of Northill is a foundation of S. Tighernach or
Torney, godchild of S. Bridget. There are two ways up to Trewortha: one
is by Higher and Lower Castick, where a picturesque old farm is passed,
by Trewartha Tor, on which is shown King Arthur’s bed; the other is by
the bridge at the back of Trebartha. The stream flowing from the marsh
forms a really beautiful fall in the grounds.
The marsh itself and its surroundings are desolate, but Killmar
(_Cêl-mawr_, the great place of shelter) rising above it is a noble
tor, and the view from the north-west, by Grey Mare Rock looking over
the flat marsh to Killmar, is as fine as anything on the Bodmin
moors. On the west side of the marsh is an ancient British settlement,
apparently unconnected with the stream-works for tin. The houses
were long and quadrangular; one was apparently a council chamber,
having a judge’s seat in granite and benches of granite down the
sides. Unfortunately these have been wantonly destroyed recently by
a man who was building pigsties. The houses had separate bakeries,
and two or three of these with their ovens remain in a tolerably
perfect condition. The same long building was occupied by two or three
families, divided off from each other by an upright slab of granite,
making so many horseboxes, but each family had its own hearth. The
pottery found there was all wheel-turned; and as many hones were found,
no doubt could exist that the occupants belonged to the iron age. No
other village of the kind has as yet been noticed on the moors except
another somewhat higher up the stream that feeds Trewartha Marsh,
and this has been much mutilated of late years. Independent of these
singular quadrangular buildings are hut circles belonging to a far
earlier age, before steel and iron were known.
[Illustration: PLAN OF HABITATION ON TREWORTHA MARSH
(_By kind permission of “The Daily Graphic”_)]
[Illustration: THE “COUNCIL HALL,” TREWORTHA MARSH
(_By kind permission of “The Daily Graphic”_)]
The whole of the hillside is cut up into paddocks, and a conduit of
water was brought from the little stream at Rushleford Gate to supply
the settlers with pure drinking water. No traces of burnt slag were
found, and consequently the ovens cannot be pronounced to have been
made to smelt the ore, but it is strange that there should be several
of these ovens. The whole settlement is so curious that I subjoin a
general plan, as well as plans of the hovels. The doorways are in
several instances perfect. Against the wind and rain the hovels were
protected by a high bank to the west. From the Cheesewring, about two
and a half miles distant, a line of rails was carried to just above
this singular village, and there abandoned. The visitor may well wonder
_why_ a railway was carried into the heart of this desolate region; it
was apparently an excuse for wasting the money of investors. The bulk
of their deposits have disappeared, and no profits have been realised.
Trewartha Marsh occupies the bed of a lake that decants over a granite
lip into the valley of the Lynher. At some remote period the miners
cut down the lip and let off the water, and then turned over the lake
bed. A former owner of Trebartha Hall gave to his daughters on their
marriage heavy gold rings from the precious ore washed out of the
gravel of Trewartha. A stroll among the refuse-heaps that occupy the
lake-bed among lanes of water and stretches of morass will show the
visitor how great was the industry of the ancient streamers. There are
several cairns and barrows on the heights, but none that have been
explored have given other results than small stone cists containing
bone and wood ash.
On the north side of the marsh were some old cottages, that have been
destroyed, and their materials employed for building purposes, in which
coins of Elizabeth and Queen Mary were found. A vague tradition exists
that a town existed at Tresillern, one of the reaches of the lake,
which was submerged for the iniquity of the inhabitants.
A basin of bog--also once a lake--exists at Redmire, and near it is a
small circle of upright stones. I was as near lost as might be in this
bog in 1891. The Ordnance Survey Office had sent down an official to
go over and correct the map of this district, and I was with him. When
dusk set in we started for Five Lanes, and lost our way. We both got
into Redmire, and had to trip along warily from one apparently firm
spot to another. The winter and summer had been unusually wet, and the
marsh was brimming with water. Six bullocks had already been lost in it
that year.
All at once I sank above my waist, and was being sucked further down.
I cried to my companion, but in the darkness he could not see me, and
had he seen me he could have done nothing for me. The water finally
reached my armpits. Happily I had a stout bamboo, some six feet long,
and I placed this athwart the surface and held it with my arms as far
expanded as possible. By jerks I gradually succeeded in lifting myself
and throwing my body forward, till finally I was able to cast myself
full length on the surface. The suction had been so great as to tear
the leather gaiters I wore off my legs. I lay full length gasping
for nearly a quarter of an hour before I had breath and strength to
advance, and then wormed myself along on my breast till I reached dry
land.
Some of the Cornish bogs are far worse than those on Dartmoor. Crowdy
is particularly ugly and dangerous. In a dry summer they may, however,
be traversed, as the surface becomes caked.
Dozmare Pool is, next to Loe Pool, the largest sheet of sweet water in
Cornwall. It abounds in fish, and was formerly a great resort of the
worker in flint, as innumerable traces of the industry testify. Arrow-
and spear-heads, scrapers, and an almost unlimited amount of chips and
flakes may be found near it. In the lake is a cranogue, or subaqueous
cairn, on which was formerly a palafite dwelling. The bottom of the
pool is certain to richly repay exploration.
For those who desire to enjoy moor air at a high elevation, there
is a pleasant little inn at Bolventor, called the “Jamaca Inn”; but
the visitor must take with him his own supply of liquor, as it is a
“temperance house.”
The moors about well reward exploration; they abound in prehistoric
antiquities, and in scenes of great but desolate beauty.
Lewanick (Llan-Winoc) was an interesting church with good bench-ends,
but an unfortunate fire destroyed the interior, and almost everything
of interest has disappeared. There is, however, in the church a
cresset-stone. This is a structure like a font, but with the surface
scooped out into five little bowls for containing oil and floating
wicks. Formerly, in the days when there existed a difficulty in
kindling a fire, it was important that a light should be kept
perpetually burning in the church, to which the parishioners might have
resort in the event of their fires going out. But such cresset-stones
are now extremely rare. There is one at Calder Abbey with sixteen
bowls, one at Furness with five. At Ballagawne, in the Isle of Man,
is one with one large bowl and nine small ones. A cresset-stone exists
in the court before San Ambrogio, Milan, and I saw one set up before
a very early church at Civeaux, in Vienne, upon which the schoolboys
amused themselves with jumping and dancing.
There are inscribed stones and oghams in the churchyard. The village
carpenter, an unusually intelligent man, has been zealous in search
after, and the discovery of, these stones. In the porch, under the
stone bench, a hare-hunt is carved on polyphant stone. The quarry of
this beautiful stone is near by. There are several crosses and holy
wells in the parish, one of S. Blaunder, which is a corruption of
Branwalader, who is identical with S. Brendan, the great navigator and
explorer in the sixth century. He is even supposed to have reached
America, but actually, it may be suspected, visited only the Canary
Isles and Madeira.
In Northill Church is a curious monument to a chrisom child.
Trecarrel is the old house of Sir Henry, who erected Launceston Church.
The hall is specially fine. He never completed the mansion. The chapel
remains, and when I saw it a goose was sitting on her eggs on the site
of the altar. But it was never consecrated. About the yard lie the
richly-carved stones intended for the gateway to the court, but the
gatehouse was not set up. There are several old houses which may be
visited from Launceston. Bradstone, on the Devon side of the Tamar, has
a most picturesque gatehouse. The venerable mansion formerly belonged
to the Cloberry family, whose cognisance was bats; it is quite intact.
Bradstone takes its name from a broad stone, in fact, a cromlech that
has been thrown down, but the cap remains, and is used as a stile.
Kelly Church has some fine old glass. Sydenham is an untouched
seventeenth-century mansion; so is Wortham, in Lifton parish. A
magnificent relic is Penheale, with its granite entrance and panelled
rooms. It is in Egloskerry parish, and formerly belonged to the Earl of
Huntingdon. It passed by sale from one hand to another, and is now the
property of Mr. Simcoe.
In Egloskerry Church is a remarkably good helmet. The church contains
an alabaster figure of an Italian flower-girl. Treguddick, once a seat
of a family of that name, has been so mutilated in alteration that it
presents little of interest. The same may be said of Basil.
Botathen, once the seat of the Bligh family, has not in it anything
of interest, but is associated with one of the best ghost stories on
record, written by the Rev. John Ruddle, vicar of Launceston, who laid
a ghost in a field that appeared to and tormented a boy of the name of
Bligh.
Ruddle was parson of Launceston between 1663 and 1698. Defoe got hold
of Ruddle’s MS. account of the transaction, and published it in 1720.
It has been often surmised that Defoe had touched up the original, or
had invented the whole story; but Mr. A. Robins has carefully entered
into an examination of the circumstances, and has proved that the
account was by Ruddle, and all those persons mentioned in it actually
lived at the period.
In 1665 John Ruddle was schoolmaster in Launceston as well as vicar,
and one of his pupils died. He preached a sermon at the funeral on June
20th, and after leaving church he was addressed by an old gentleman,
who informed him that his own son was sadly troubled by having several
times met a ghost, or, at all events, the boy pretended that he had.
The gentleman, Mr. Bligh, of Botathen, invited Ruddle to his house to
see the lad.
After conferences with the boy Ruddle gained his confidence, and, says
he, “he told me with all naked freedom and a flood of tears that his
friends were unjust and unkind to him, neither to believe nor pity
him, and that if any man would go with him to the place he might be
convinced that the thing was real.” The rest of the story shall be told
from a MS. now in the possession of a lady in Launceston, copied by
William Ruddle, the son, from his father’s original MS.:--
“By ys time he found me able to comisrate his condition and
to be attentive to his relation of it, therefore he went on
in ys manner. This woman wch appears to me (saith he) Lived
a nighbour here to my father, and dyed about 8 years since.
Her name Dorothy Dingle, of such a stature, such an age and
complexion. She never speaks to me, but passeth by hastyly
and always Leaves ye footpath to me, and she comonly meets
me twice or thrice in ye breadth of ye field. It was abt 2
months before I took any notice of it, and tho’ ye shape of
ye face was in my memory yet I could not recal ye name of
ye person, but wthout more thoughtfullnes I did suppose
it was some woman who Lived thereabout and had frequent
occasion that way, nor did I imagine anything to ye
contrary before she began to meet me constantly morning and
evening, and always in ye same field, and sometimes twice
or thrice in ye breadth of it. The first time I took notice
of her was abt a year since and when I first began to
suspect and beleive it to be a Ghost I had courage enough
not to be affraid, but kept it to myself a good while and
only pondered very much at it. I did often speak to it,
but never had a word in answer. Then I changed my way and
went to school ye Under Horse Road, and then she always
met me in ye narrow Lane between ye Quarry Park and ye
Nursery, which was worse. At Length I began to be terrifyd
at it, and prayed continually that God would either free me
from it, or Let me know ye meaning of it. Night and day,
sleeping and wakeing ye shape was ever runing in my mind.
“Thus (said he) by degrees I grew very pensive, in so much
that it was taken notice of by all our family, whereupon,
being urg’d to it, I told my brother William of it, and
he privately acquainted my father and mother wth it, and
they kept it to themselves for sometime. Ye successe of
this discovery was only that they sometimes Laugh at me,
sometimes elude me, but still comanded me to keep my school
and put such fageries out of my head. I did accordingly go
often to school, but always met ye woman in ye way.
“This and much more to ye same purpose (yea as much as
held a Dialogue of near 2 hours) was our conference in ye
orchard, which ended wth my profer to him that (without
makeing any privy to our intent) I would next day walk wth
him to ye place abt 6 o’clock. He was even transported
wth joy at ye mention of it, and replyed, ‘but will ye
sure Sr, will ye sure Sr? Thank God! now I hope I shall
be believed!’ Upon this conclusion we retired to ye hous.
The gent, his wife, and Mr. S. were impatient to know ye
event, insomuch that they came out of ye parlour into ye
hall to meet us, and seeing ye Lad Look chearfully ye
first complement from ye old man was ‘Come, Mr. Ruddle! ye
have talked with S. I hope now he will have more wit, an
idle boy, an idle boy.’ At these words ye Lad ran up ye
stairs to his chamber without replying, and I soon stopt
ye curiosity of ye 3 expectants by telling them that I
had promised silence, and was resolved to be as good as
my word; but when things were riper they might know all,
at prsent I desired them to rest in my faithfull pmise
that I would do my utmost in their service and for ye good
of their son. With this they were silenced, I cannot say
satisfyed.
“The next morning before 5 o’clock ye Lad was in my chamber
and very brisk. I arose and went with him. Ye field he
Led me to I guested to be abt 20 acres in an open country
and abt 3 furlongs from any hous. We went into ye field,
and had not gone above a third parte before the Spectrum
in ye shape of a woman wth all ye circumstances he had
described her to me in ye orchard ye day before (as much
as ye suddennesse of itts appearance and evanition would
prmit me to discover) met us and passed by. I was a Little
surprised at it, yet I had not ye power, nor indeed durst
I Look back, yet took care not to show any fear to my
pupil and guide, and therefore, only telling him that I
was satysfyed in ye truth of his complaint we walked to ye
end of ye field and returned, nor did ye Ghost meet us at
yt time above once. I perceved in ye young man a kind of
boldnes mixt wth astonismt, ye first caused by my prsence,
and ye proof he had given of his own relation, ye other by
ye sight of his prsecutor.
“In short he went home; I somewhat puzled, he much
animated. At our return ye gentlewoman (whose
inquisitiveness had mist us) watched to speak with me, I
gave her a convenience, and told her that my opinion was
her son’s complaint was not to be slighted, nor altogether
discredited, yet that my judgment in his case was not
setled. I gave her caution moreover that ye thing might
not take wind Lest ye whole country should ring wth what
we yet had no assurance of. In this juncture of time I had
busines wch would admit no delay, wherefore I went for
Launceston that evening, but prmised to see him again next
week,--yet I was prevented by an occasion which pleaded a
sufficient excuse, for my wife was that week brought home
from a nighbours house very ill. However my mind was upon
ye adventure. I studyed ye case, and abt 3 weeks after went
again resolving by ye help of God to see ye utmost.
“The next Monday, being ye 27th day of July 1665, I went
to ye haunted field by myself and walked ye bredth of it
without any encounter. I returned and took ye other walk,
and then ye Spectrum appeared to me, much about ye same
place I saw it before when ye young gent was wth me. In my
thoughts it moved swifter than ye time before, and abt 30
feet distant from me on my right hand in so much that I had
not time to speak, as I determined with myself beforehand.
“The evening of that day ye parents, ye son, and myself
being in ye chamber where I Lay, I propounded to them
our going altogether to ye place next morning, and after
some asseverration that there was no danger in it we all
resolved upon it.
“The morning being come Lest we shd alarm ye family of
servts, they went under pretence of seeing a field of
wheat, and I took my horse and fetched a compas another
way, and so met at ye stile we had appointed; thence we al
four walked Leisurely into ye Quartils, and had not passed
above half ye field before ye Ghost made appearance. It
then came over ye stile just before us, and moved with
such swiftness that by ye time we had gone 6 or 7 steps it
passed by; I ’mediately turned head and ran after it wth
ye young man by my side. We saw it passe over ye stile at
wch we entred, but no further. I stept upon ye hedg at one
place, he at another, but could discern nothing, whereas I
dare averr that ye swiftest horse in England could not have
conveyed himself out of sight in yt short space of time.
“Two things I observed in this day’s appearance, viz.: 1.
that a spaniel dog which followed ye company unregarded,
did bark and run away as ye Spectrum passed by, whence ’tis
easy to conclude yt it was not our fear or fancy wch made
ye apparition. 2. that ye motion of ye Spectrum was not
gradatim, or by steps and moveing ye feet, but a kind of
glideing as children upon ye ice, or a boat down a swift
river, which punctually answers ye descriptions ye antients
gave of ye motion of their Lemures.
“But to prceed: this ocular evidence clearly convinced, but
withall sharply affrighted ye old gent and his wife who
knew ys D. D. in her Lifetime,--were at her buryal, and
now plainly saw her features in this prsent apparition.
I encouraged them as wel as I could, but after this they
went no more. However I was resolved to prceed and use such
Lawfull means as God hath discovered and Learned men have
successfully practiced in these unvulgar cases.
“The next morning being Thursday I went out very early by
myself and walked for abt an hour’s space in meditation
and prayer in ye field next adjoyning to ye Quartils. Soon
after five I stept over ye stile into ye disturbed field,
and had not gone above 30 or 40 paces before ye Ghost
appeared at ye further stile. I spake to it with a Loud
voice in some such sentences as ye way of these dealings
directed me, whereupon it approached, but slowly. When I
came near it, it mov’d not. I spake again and it answered
in a voice neither very audible nor intelligable. I was not
in ye Least terrifyed, and therefore persisted untill it
spake again, and gave me satisfaction.
“But ye work could not be finished at this time; wherefore
ye same evening, an hour after sun-set, it met me again
near ye same place, and after a few words of each side it
quietly vanished, and neither doth appear since, nor ever
will more to any man’s disturbance.
“N.B. The discourse in ye morning Lasted abt a quarter of
an hour.
“These things are true. I know them to be so with as much
certainty as eyes and ears can give me; and until I can
be perswaded that my senses do deceve me abt their proper
objects (and by that perswasion deprive myself of ye
strongest inducement to beleive ye Christian Religion) I
must and will assert that these things in this paper are
true.”
I omit the reflections made on this by the writer, who signs:
“September 4th, 1665, John Ruddle.”
Every person and every place can be and has been identified by Mr.
Robins, to whose article I refer the reader, should he care to go over
the ground.[7]
NOTE.--Books on Launceston:--
ROBINS (A. F.), _Launceston, Past and Present_. Launceston, 1884.
PETER (R.), _The Histories of Launceston and Dunheved_. Plymouth, 1885.