called also “_the buccas_.” Many a time have I been seriously informed
by the miners themselves that these sprites have been heard working away
in the remote parts of a lode, repeating the blows of the miner’s pick
or sledge with great precision. Generally speaking, the knockers work
upon productive lodes only; and they have often kindly indicated to the
trusting miner, where they might take good tribute pitches.
To Wesley, Cornwall owes a deep debt. He found the country steeped in
the darkness of superstitious ignorance, and he opened a new light
upon it. Associated with the spread of Wesleyan Methodism, has been
the establishment of schools; and under the influence of religion and
education, many of the superstitions have faded away. We rarely hear
of the knockers now; but the following occurrence will shew that the
knockers have not entirely left the land:—
One Saturday night I had retired to rest, having first seen that all
the members of the household had gone to their bedrooms. These were my
daughters, two female servants, and an old woman, named Mary, who was
left, by the proprietor, in charge of the house which I occupied.
I had been some time in bed, when I distinctly heard a bedroom door open,
and footsteps which, after moving about for some time in the passage or
landing, from which the bedrooms opened, slowly and carefully descended
the stairs. I heard a movement in the kitchen below, and the footsteps
again ascended the stairs, and went into one of the bedrooms. This noise
continued so long, and was so regularly repeated, that I began to fear
lest one of the children were taken suddenly ill. Yet I felt assured, if
it was so, one of the servants would call me. Therefore I lay still and
listened until I fell asleep.
On the Sunday morning, when I descended to the breakfast-room, I asked
the eldest of the two servants what had occasioned so much going up
and down stairs in the night. She declared that no one had left their
bedrooms after they had retired to them. I then inquired of the younger
girl, and of each of my daughters as they made their appearance. No one
had left their rooms—they had not heard any noises. My youngest daughter,
who had been, after this inquiry of mine, for some minutes alone with the
youngest servant, came laughing to me,—
“Papa, Nanny says the house is haunted, and that they have often heard
strange noises in it.”
So I called Nancy; but all I could learn from her was that noises, like
that of men going up and down stairs,—of threshing corn, and of “beating
the borer,” (a mining operation,) were not uncommon.
We all laughed over papa’s ghost during the breakfast, and by and by old
Mary made her appearance.
“Yes,” she said, “it is quite true, as Nanny as a told you. I have often
heard all sorts of strange noises; but I b’lieve they all come from the
lode of tin which runs under the house. _Wherever there is a lode of tin,
you are sure to hear strange noises._”
“What, Mary! was it the knockers I heard last night?”
“Yes; ’twas the knackers, down working upon the tin—no doubt of it.”
This was followed by a long explanation, and numerous stories of mines
in the Lelant and St Ives district, in which the knockers had been often
heard.
After a little time, Mary, imagining, I suppose, that the young ladies
might not like to sleep in a house beneath which the knockers were at
work; again came with her usual low courtesy into the parlour.
“Beg pardon, sir,” says she; “but none of the young ladies need be
afraid. There are no spirits in the house; it is very nearly a new one,
and no one has ever died in the house.”
This makes a distinct difference between the ghost of the departed and
those gnomes who are doomed to toil in the earth’s dark recesses.[47] The
Cornish knocker does not appear to be the “_cobal_” of German miners.
The former are generally kindly, and often serve the industrious miner;
the latter class are always malicious, and, I believe, are never heard
but when mischief is near.
MINERS’ SUPERSTITIONS.
Miners say they often see little imps or demons underground. Their
presence is considered favourable; they indicate the presence of lodes,
about which they work during the absence of the miners. A miner told my
informant that he had often seen them, sitting on pieces of timber, or
tumbling about in curious attitudes, when he came to work.
Miners do not like the form of the cross being made underground. A friend
of my informant, going through some “levels” or “adits,” made a + by the
side of one, to know his way back, as he would have to return by himself.
He was compelled to alter it into another form.
If miners see a snail when going to “bal” in the morning, they always
drop a piece of tallow from their candles by its side.
CHRISTMAS-EVE IN THE MINES.
On Christmas-eve, in former days, the small people, or the spriggans,
would meet at the bottom of the deepest mines, and have a midnight mass.
Then those who were in the mine would hear voices melodious beyond all
earthly voices, singing, “Now well! now well;”[48] and the strains of
some deep-toned organ would shake the rocks. Of the grandeur of those
meetings, old stories could not find words sufficiently sonorous to
speak; it was therefore left to the imagination. But this was certain,
the temple formed by the fairy bands in which to celebrate the eve of the
birth of a Saviour, in whose mercy they all had hope, was of the most
magnificent description.
Midsummer-eve and new-year’s day and eve are holidays with the miners.
It has been said they refuse to work on those days from superstitious
reasons. I never heard of any.
WARNINGS AND “TOKENS.”
Amongst the mining population there is a deeply-rooted belief in
warnings. The following, related by a very respectable man, formerly a
miner, well illustrates this:—
“My father, when a lad, worked with a companion (James or ‘Jim,’ as he
was called) in Germo. They lived close by Old Wheal Grey in Breage. One
evening, the daughter of the person with whom they lodged came in to her
mother, crying, ‘Billy and Jim ben out theer for more than a hour, and
I ben chasin them among the Kilyur banks, and they waan’t ler me catch
them. As fast as I do go to one, they do go to another.’ ‘Hould your
tongue, child,’ said the mother; ‘’twas their forenoon core, and they
both ben up in bed this hours.’ ‘I’m sure I ben chasin them,’ said the
girl. The mother then went up-stairs and awoke the lads, telling them
the story. One of them said, ‘’Tis a warning; somethin will happen in
un old end, and I shan’t go to mine this core.’ ‘Nonsense,’ said the
other; ‘don’t let us be so foolish; the child has been playing with
some strangers, and it isn’t worth while to be spaled for any such
foolishness.’ ‘I tell you,’ replied the other, ‘I won’t go.’ As it was
useless for one man to go alone, both remained away. In the course of the
night, however, a run took place in the end they were working in, and
tens of thousands of kibblefuls came away. Had they been at work, it was
scarcely possible for them to have escaped.”
At Wheal Vor it has always been and is now believed that a fatal accident
in the mine is presaged by the appearance of a hare or white rabbit in
one of the engine-houses. The men solemnly declare that they have chased
these appearances till they were hemmed in apparently, without being
able to catch them. The white rabbit on one occasion being _run into a
“windbore”_ lying on the ground, _and, though stopped in_, escaped.
In this mine there appears to be a general belief among the men in
“tokens” and supernatural appearances. A few months since, a fine old man
reported, on being relieved from his turn as watcher, that during the
night he heard a loud sound like the emptying of a cartload of rubbish in
front of the account-house, where he was staying. On going out, nothing
was to be seen. The poor fellow, considering the strange sound as a
“warning,” pined away and died within a few weeks.
THE GHOST ON HORSEBACK.
Billy —— and John ——, working at Wheal Vor, were in the habit, early in
the morning, of calling out a dog or two, kept by the occupier of an
adjoining farm, and with them hunt over the Godolphin warren adjoining.
One morning, while thus engaged, one of them gave the alarm that a man on
horseback was coming down the road. “’Tisn’t possible,” said the other;
“no horse can ever come over that road.” “There is a horse, and old
Cap’n T. is upon it,” replied the first. “Hold thy tongue,” rejoined his
comrade; “he’s dead months ago.” “I know that; but ’tis he, sure enough.”
Both crouched down behind a bush; and my informant, whose father was one
of the parties, declared that the appearance of Capt. T., on a black
horse, passed noiselessly down the road immediately before them, but
without noticing their presence.
THE BLACK DOGS.
About thirty years since, a man and a lad were engaged in sinking a shaft
at Wheal Vor Mine, when the lad, through carelessness or accident, missed
in charging a hole, so that a necessity arose for the dangerous operation
of picking out the charge. This they proceeded to do, the man severely
reprimanding the carelessness of his assistant. Several other miners
at the time being about to change their core, were on the plat above,
calling down and conversing occasionally with man and boy. Suddenly the
charge exploded, and the latter were seen to be thrown up in the midst of
a volume of flame. As soon as help could be procured, a party descended,
when the remains of the poor fellows were found to be shattered and
scorched beyond recognition. When these were brought to the surface, the
clothes and a mass of mangled flesh dropped from the bodies. A bystander,
to spare the feelings of the relatives, hastily caught up the revolting
mass in a shovel, and threw the whole into the blazing furnace of Woolf’s
engine, close at hand. From that time the enginemen declared that troops
of little black dogs continually haunted the place, even when the doors
were shut. Few of them liked to talk about it; but it was difficult to
obtain the necessary attendance to work the machine.
PITMEN’S OMENS AND GOBLINS.
It is curious to notice the correspondence between the superstitions
of the coal-miner and those employed in the metalliferous mines. The
following comes very opportunely to our hand:—
The superstitions of pitmen were once many and terrible; but
so far from existing now-a-days, they are only matters of
tradition among the old men. One class only of superstitions
does exist among a few of the older and less-educated
pitmen—namely, the class of omens, warnings, and signs. If one
of these pitmen meet or see a woman, if he catch but a glimpse
of her draperies, on his way, in the middle of the night to
the pit, the probability is that he returns home and goes to
bed again. The appearance of woman at this untimely hour has
often materially impeded the day’s winning, for the omen is
held not to be personal to the individual perceiving it, but to
bode general ill luck to all. The walk from home to pit mouth,
always performed at dead of the night, was the period when
omens were mostly to be looked for. The supernatural appearance
of a little white animal like a rabbit, which was said to
cross the miner’s path, was another warning not to descend.
Sometimes the omens were rather mental than visual. The pitmen
in the midland counties have, or had, a belief, unknown in the
north, in aerial whistlings, warning them against the pit.
Who, or what the invisible musicians were, nobody pretended
to know; but for all that, they must have been counted and
found to consist of seven, as “The Seven Whistlers” is the
name they bear to this day. Two goblins were believed to haunt
the northern mines. One was a spiteful elf, who indicated his
presence only by the mischief he perpetrated. He rejoiced
in the name of “Cutty Soams,” and appears to have employed
himself only in the stupid device of severing the rope-traces
or soams, by which an assistant-putter—honoured by the title of
“the fool”—is yoked to the tub. The strands of hemp which were
left all sound in the board at “kenner-time,” were found next
morning severed in twain. “Cutty Soams” has been at work, would
the fool and his driver say, dolefully knotting the cord. The
other goblin was altogether a more sensible, and, indeed, an
honest and hard-working bogie, much akin to the Scotch brownie,
or the hairy fiend, whom Milton rather scurvily apostrophises
as a lubber. The supernatural personage in question was no
other than a ghostly putter, and his name was “Bluecap.”
Sometimes the miners would perceive a light blue flame
flicker through the air, and settle on a full coal-tub, which
immediately moved towards the rolley-way, as though impelled by
the sturdiest sinews in the working. Industrious Bluecap was
at his vocation; but he required, and rightly, to be paid for
his services, which he modestly rated as those of an ordinary
average putter; therefore once a fortnight Bluecap’s wages
were left for him in a solitary corner of the mine. If they
were a farthing below his due, the indignant Bluecap would
not pocket a stiver; if they were a farthing above his due,
indignant Bluecap left the surplus revenue where he found it.
The writer asked his informant, a hewer, whether, if Bluecap’s
wages were now-a-days to be left for him, he thought they would
be appropriated; the man shrewdly answered, he thought they
would be taken by Bluecap, or by somebody else. Of the above
notions it must be understood that the idea of omens is the
only one still seriously entertained, and even its hold upon
the popular mind, as has been before stated, is becoming weaker
and weaker.—_Colliery Guardian, May 23, 1863._
THE DEAD HAND.
“I’ve seen it—I’ve seen it!” exclaimed a young woman, pale with terror,
approaching with much haste the door of a cottage, around which were
gathered several of the miners’ wives inhabiting the adjoining dwellings.
“God’s mercy be with the chield!” replied the oldest woman of the group,
with very great seriousness.
“Aunt Alice,” asked one of the youngest women, “and do ’e b’lieve any
harm will come o’ seeing it?”
“Mary Doble saw it and pined; Jinny Trestrail was never the same woman
after she seed the hand in Wheal Jewel; and I knows ever so many more;
but let us hope, by the blessing o’ the Lord, no evil will come on Mary.”
Mary was evidently impressed with a sense of some heavy trouble. She
sighed deeply, and pressed her hand to her side, as if to still the
beating of her heart. The thoughtless faith of the old woman promised
to work out a fulfilment of her fears in producing mental distress and
corporeal suffering in the younger one.
While this was passing in the little village, a group of men were
gathered around a deserted shaft, which existed in too dangerous
proximity with the abodes of the miners. They were earnestly discussing
the question of the reality of the appearance of the _dead hand_—those
who had not seen it expressing a doubt of its reality, while others
declared most emphatically, “that in that very shaft they had seed un
with a lighted candle in his hand, moving up and down upon the ladders,
as though he was carried by a living man.”
It appears that some time previously to the abandonment of the mine, an
unfortunate miner was ascending from his subterranean labours, carrying
his candle in his hand. He was probably seized with giddiness, but from
that or some other cause, he fell away from the ladders, and was found
by his comrades a bleeding corpse at the bottom. The character of this
man was not of the best; and after his burial, it was stated by the
people that _he had been seen_. From a vague rumour of his spectral
appearance on the surface, the tale eventually settled itself into that
of the dead hand moving up and down in the shaft.
By the spectral light of the candle, the hand had been distinctly visible
to many, and the irregular motion of the light proved that the candle
was held in the usual manner between the thumb and finger in its ball of
clay, while the fingers were employed in grasping stave after stave of
the ladder. The belief in the evil attendant on being unfortunate enough
to see this spectral hand, prevailed very generally amongst the mining
population about twenty years since. The dead hand was not, however,
confined to one shaft or mine. Similar narrations have been met with in
several districts.
DORCAS, THE SPIRIT OF POLBREEN MINE.
Polbreen Mine is situated at the foot of the hill known as St Agnes
Becon. In one of the small cottages which immediately adjoins the mine
once lived a woman called Dorcas.
Beyond this we know little of her life; but we are concerned chiefly with
her death, which we are told was suicidal.
From some cause, which is not related, Dorcas grew weary of life, and one
unholy night she left her house and flung herself into one of the deep
shafts of Polbreen Mine, at the bottom of which her dead and broken body
was discovered. The remnant of humanity was brought to the surface; and
after the laws of the time with regard to suicides had been fulfilled,
the body of Dorcas was buried.
Her presence, however, still remained in the mine. She appears ordinarily
to take a malicious delight in tormenting the industrious miner, calling
him by name, and alluring him from his tasks. This was carried on by her
to such an extent, that when a “tributer” had made a poor month, he was
asked if he had “been chasing Dorcas.”[49]
Dorcas was usually only a voice. It has been said by some that they have
seen her in the mine, but this is doubted by the miners generally, who
refer the spectral appearance to the fears of their “comrade.”
But it is stated as an incontrovertible fact, that more than one man who
has met the spirit in the levels of the mine has had his clothes torn off
his back; whether in anger or in sport, is not clearly made out. On one
occasion, and on one occasion only, Dorcas appears to have acted kindly.
Two miners, who for distinction’s sake we will call Martin and Jacky,
were at work in their end, and at the time busily at work “beating the
borer.”
The name of Jacky was distinctly uttered between the blows. He stopped
and listened—all was still. They proceed with their task: a blow on the
iron rod.—“Jacky.” Another blow.—“Jacky.” They pause—all is silent.
“Well, thee wert called, Jacky,” said Martin, “go and see.”
Jacky was, however, either afraid, or he thought himself the fool of his
senses.
Work was resumed, and “Jacky! Jacky! Jacky!” was called more vehemently
and distinctly than before.
Jacky threw down his heavy hammer, and went from his companion, resolved
to satisfy himself as to the caller.
He had not proceeded many yards from the spot on which he had been
standing at work, when a mass of rock fell from the roof of the level,
weighing many tons, which would have crushed him to death. Martin had
been stooping, holding the borer, and a projecting corner of rock just
above him turned off the falling mass. He was securely enclosed, and they
had to dig him out, but he escaped without injury. Jacky declared to his
dying day that he owed his life to Dorcas.
Although Dorcas’s shaft remains a part of Polbreen Mine, I am informed by
the present agent that her presence has departed.
HINGSTON DOWNS.
“Hengsten Down, well ywrought,
Is worth London town dearly bought.”
CAREW—_Lord De Dunstanville’s Edition_.
It may be worthy of consideration whether we have not evidence in this
distich of the extent to which mining operations were carried on over
this moorland and the adjoining country by the ancient Cornish miners.
It is said that this moorland was originally Hengiston; and tradition
affirms that the name preserves the memory of a severe contest, when the
Welsh joined Egbright, a king of the West Saxons, and defeated the host
of Danes, who had come over to “West Wales,” meaning thereby Cornwall.
On this waste Hengist had his fenced camp, and here the Cornish and the
Welsh attacked and entirely overthrew him. It is evident, if tradition is
to be believed, that the struggle was to gain possession of a valuable
tin ground.
FISHERMEN AND SAILORS.
“I was saying to Jack, as we talk’d t’ other day
About lubbers and snivelling elves,
That if people in life did not steer the right way,
They had nothing to thank but themselves.
Now, when a man’s caught by those mermaids the girls,
With their flattering palaver and smiles;
He runs, while he’s list’ning to their fal de rals,
Bump ashore on the Scilly Isles.”
TOM DIBDIN.
ROMANCES OF FISHERMEN AND SAILORS.
THE PILOT’S GHOST STORY.
“On a sudden shrilly sounding,
Hideous yells and shrieks were heard;
Then each heart with fear confounding,
A sad troop of ghosts appear’d,
All in dreary hammocks shrouded,
Which for winding-sheets they wore.”
_Admiral Hosier’s Ghost._
I prefer giving this story in the words in which it was communicated. For
its singular character, it is a ghost story well worth preserving:—“Just
seventeen years since, I went down on the wharf from my house one night
about twelve and one in the morning, to see whether there was any
‘hobble,’ and found a sloop, the _Sally_ of St Ives, (the _Sally_ was
wrecked at St Ives one Saturday afternoon in the spring of 1862,) in
the bay, bound for Hayle. When I got by the White Hart public-house, I
saw a man leaning against a post on the wharf,—I spoke to him, wished
him good morning, and asked him what o’clock it was, but to no purpose.
I was not to be easily frightened, for I didn’t believe in ghosts; and
finding I got no answer to my repeated inquiries, I approached close to
him and said, ‘Thee’rt a queer sort of fellow, not to speak; I’d speak to
the devil, if he were to speak to me. Who art a at all? thee’st needn’t
think to frighten me; that thee wasn’t do, if thou wert twice so ugly;
who art a at all?’ He turned his great ugly face on me, glared abroad his
great eyes, opened his mouth, and it was a mouth sure nuff. Then I saw
pieces of sea-weed and bits of sticks in his whiskers; the flesh of his
face and hands were parboiled, just like a woman’s hands after a good
day’s washing. Well, I did not like his looks a bit, and sheered off;
but he followed close by my side, and I could hear the water squashing
in his shoes every step he took. Well, I stopped a bit, and thought to
be a little bit civil to him, and spoke to him again, but no answer. I
then thought I would go to seek for another of our crew, and nock him up
to get the vessel, and had got about fifty or sixty yards, when I turned
to see if he was following me, but saw him where I left him. Fearing he
would come after me, I ran for my life the few steps that I had to go.
But when I got to the door, to my horror there stood the man in the door
grinning horribly. I shook like as aspen-leaf; my hat lifted from my
head; the sweat boiled out of me. What to do I didn’t know, and in the
house there was such a row, as if everybody was breaking up everything.
After a bit I went in, for the door was ‘on the latch,’—that is, not
locked,—and called the captain of the boat, and got light, but everything
was all right, nor had he heard any noise. We went out aboard of the
_Sally_, and I put her into Hayle, but I felt ill enough to be in bed.
I left the vessel to come home as soon as I could, but it took me four
hours to walk two miles, and I had to lie down in the road, and was
carried home to St Ives in a cart; as far as the Terrace from there I was
carried home by my brothers, and put to bed. Three days afterwards all my
hair fell off as if I had had my head shaved. The roots, and for about
half an inch from the roots, being quite white. I was ill six months,
and the doctor’s bill was £4, 17s. 6d. for attendance and medicine. So
you see I have reason to believe in the existence of spirits as much as
Mr Wesley had. My hair grew again, and twelve months after I had as good
a head of dark-brown hair as ever.”[50]
THE PHANTOM SHIP.
Years long ago, one night, a gig’s crew was called to go off to a
“hobble,” to the westwards of St Ives Head. No sooner was one boat
launched than several others were put off from the shore, and a stiff
chase was maintained, each one being eager to get to the ship, as she had
the appearance of a foreign trader. The hull was clearly visible, she was
a schooner-rigged vessel, with a light over her bows.