pleased, while Lady Jane took from them “two hogsheads of Spanish pieces
of eight, and converted them to her own use.”
As one of the Spanish factors was dying, he lifted his hands to Heaven,
prayed to the Lord to receive his soul, and turning to the vile woman to
whose villany he owed his death, he said, “My blood will linger with you
until my death is avenged upon your own sons.”
This dreadful deed was not allowed to pass without notice even in those
lawless times. The Spaniards were then friendly with England, and
upon the representation made by the Spanish minister to the existing
government, the sheriff of Cornwall was ordered to seize and bring to
trial Lady Jane Killigrew and her crew of murderers. A considerable
number were arrested with her; and that lady and several of her men were
tried at Launceston.
Since the Spaniards were proved to be at the time of the murder
“foreigners under the Queen’s protection,” they were all found guilty,
and condemned to death.
All the men were executed on the walls of Launceston Castle; but by the
interest of Sir John Arundell and Sir Nicholas Hals, Queen Elizabeth was
induced to grant a pardon for Lady Jane.
How Lady Jane Killigrew lived, and when she died, are matters on which
even tradition, by which the story is preserved, is silent. We know,
however, that her immediate descendant, John Killigrew, who married one
of the Monks, and his son William Killigrew, who was made a baronet in
1660 by Charles II., were only known for the dissoluteness of character,
and the utter regardlessness of every feeling of an exalting character,
which they displayed. Sir William Killigrew, by his ill conduct and his
extravagant habits, wasted all the basely-gotten treasure, and sold
the manor and barton of Arwenick to his younger brother, Sir Peter
Killigrew. With the son of this Peter the baronetcy became extinct. The
last Sir Peter Killigrew, however, improved his fortune by marrying one
of the coheirs of Judge Twisden. Sir Peter and his wife, of whom we know
nothing, died, leaving one son, George Killigrew, who connected himself
with the St Aubyn family by marriage. This man appears to have inherited
many of the vices of his family. He was given to low company, and towards
the close of his life was remarkable only for his drunken habits.
He was one evening in a tavern in Penryn, surrounded by his usual
companions, and with them was one Walter Vincent, a barrister-at-law.
The wine flowed freely; songs and loose conversation were the order of
the night. At length all were in a state of great excitement through
the extravagance of their libations, and something was said by George
Killigrew very insultingly to Walter Vincent.
Walter Vincent does not appear to have been naturally a depraved man, but
of violent passions. Irritated by Killigrew, he made some remarks on the
great-grandmother being sentenced to be hanged. Swords were instantly
drawn by the drunken men. They lunged at each other. Vincent’s sword
passed directly through Killigrew’s body, and he fell dead in the midst
of his revelries, at the very moment when he was defending the character
of her who had brought dishonour upon them.
This Walter Vincent was tried for the murder of George Killigrew, but
acquitted. We are told by the Cornish historian, “Yet this Mr Vincent,
through anguish and horror at this accident, (as it was said,) within
two years after, wasted of an extreme atrophy of his flesh and spirits;
that, at length, at the table whereby he was sitting, in the Bishop of
Exeter’s palace, in the presence of divers gentlemen, he instantly fell
back against the wall and died.”
George Killigrew left one daughter; but of her progress in life we know
nothing. Thus the Cornish Killigrews ceased to be a name in the land.
Such a tale as this does not, of course, exist without many remarkable
additions. Ghosts and devils of various kinds are spoken of as
frequenting Arwenick House, and the woods around it. Those spectral and
demoniacal visitations have not, however, any special interest. They are
only, indeed, repetitions of oft-told tales.
SAINT GERENNIUS.
This reached me at too late a period to be included with the legends of
the saints:—
“The beacon at Veryan stands on the highest ground in Roseland, at a
short distance from the cliff which overlooks Pendower and Gerrans Bay.
Dr Whitaker, in his ‘Cathedral of Cornwall,’ states it to be one of
the largest tumuli in the kingdom. Its present height above the level
of the field in which it stands is about twenty-eight feet, and its
circumference at the base three hundred and fifty feet; but it must have
been originally much larger, as a considerable portion on one side has
been removed, its summit being now about eighty feet from the base on
the south side, and only fifty feet on the north, whilst the top of the
cairn which was discovered in it, and which was, no doubt, placed exactly
in the original centre of the mound, is at least ten feet still further
north than the present summit.
“A tradition has been preserved in the neighbourhood, that Gerennius,
an old Cornish saint and king, whose palace stood on the other side of
Gerrans Bay, between Trewithian and the sea, was buried in this mound
many centuries ago, and that a golden boat with silver oars were used in
conveying his corpse across the bay, and were interred with him. Part of
this tradition receives confirmation from an account incidentally given
of King Gerennius, in an old book called the ‘Register of Llandaff.’ It
is there stated that, A.D. 588, Teliau, bishop of Landaff, with some
of his suffragan bishops, and many of his followers, fled from Wales,
to escape an epidemic called the yellow plague, and migrated to Dole
in Brittany, to visit Sampson, the archbishop of that place, who was a
countryman and friend of Teliau’s. ‘On his way thither,’ says the old
record, ‘he came first to the region of Cornwall, and was well received
by Gerennius, the king of that country, who treated him and his people
with all honour. From thence he proceeded to Armorica, and remained there
seven years and seven months; when, hearing that the plague had ceased in
Britain, he collected his followers, caused a large bark to be prepared,
and returned to Wales.’ ‘In this,’ the record proceeds, ‘they all arrived
at the port called Din-Gerein, king Gerennius lying in the last extreme
of life, who, when he had received the body of the Lord from the hand of
St Teliau, departed in joy to the Lord.’ ‘Probably,’ says Whitaker, in
his remarks on this quotation, ‘the royal remains were brought in great
pomp by water from Din-Gerein, on the western shore of the port, to
Carne, about two miles off on the northern; the barge with the royal body
was plated, perhaps, with gold in places; perhaps, too, rowed with oars
having equally plates of silver upon them; and the pomp of the procession
has mixed confusedly with the interment of the body in the memory of
tradition.’”
CORNISH DIALOGUE.
As the Cornish dialogue peculiarly illustrates a description of literary
composition which has no resemblance to that of any other county, I think
it advisable to give one specimen:—
DIALOGUE BETWEEN MAL TRELOARE AND SAUNDRY KEMP.
’Twas Kendle teening, when jung Mal Treloare
Trudg’d hum from Bal, a bucken copper ore;
Her clathing hard and ruff, black was her eye,
Her face and arms like stuff from Cairn Kye.
Full butt she mit jung Saundry Kemp, who long
She had been token’d to, come from Ding Dong;
Hes jacket wet, his faace rud like his beard,
And through his squarded hat hes hair appeared.
She said, “Oh, Kemp, I thoft of thee well leer,
Thees naw that daay we wor to Bougheehere,
That daay with ale and cakes, at three o’clock,
Thees stuff’d me so, I jist neen crack’d me dock:
Jue said to me, ‘Thee mayst depend thee life,
I love thee, Mal, and thee shust be ma wife.’
And to ma semmen, tes good to lem ma naw
Whether the words were aal in jest or no.”
_Saundry._ Why, truly, Mal, I like a thing did zay,
That I wud have thee next Chewiden daay.
But zence that time I like a think ded hear
Thees went wi’ some one down, ‘I naw where;’
Now es that fitty, Mal? What dost think?
_Mal._ Od rot tha body, Saundry, who said so?
Now, faath and traath, I’ll naw afore I go;
Do lem me naw the Gossenbary dog.
_Saundry._ Why, then, Crull said jue wor down to Wheal Bog
With he and Tabban, and ded make some tricks
By dabben clay at jungsters making bricks;
Aand that from there jue went to Aafe-waye house,
Aand drink’t some leeker. Mal, now there’s down souse.
Aand jue to he, like a thing ded zay,
Jue wed have he, and I mait go away.
_Mal._ I tell the lubber so! I to Wheal Bog!
I’ll scatt his chacks, the emprent, saucy dog.
Now hire me, Saundry Kemp, now down and full,
Ef thee arten hastes, thee shust hire the whole.
Fust jue must naw, tes true as thee art there,
Aant Blanch and I went to Golsinny feer.
Who overtookt us in the doosty road,
In common hum but Crull, the cloppen toad.
Zes he to Aant, “What cheer? Aant Blanch, what cheer?
Jue makes good coose, suppose jue been to feer.”
“Why, hiss,” zes Aant, “ben there a pewer spur.
I wedn’t a gone ef nawed ed been so fur.
I bawft a pair of shods for Sarah’s cheeld.”
By this time, lock! we cum jist to the field.
We went to clemmer up the temberen style.
(Haw kept his eye upon me all the while.)
Zes hem to Aant, “Then whos es thees braa maide?
Come tha wayst long, dasent be afraid.”
Then mov’d my side, like a thing,
Aand pull’d my mantle, and just touch’d my ching,
“How arry, jung woman?” zes haw. “How dost do?”,
Zes I, “Jue saucy dog, what’s that to jue?
Keep off, jung lad, else thees have a slap.”
Then haw fooch’d some great big doat figs in me lap.
So I thoft, as haw had been so kind,
Haw might go by Aant Blanch, ef haw had a mind.
Aand so haw ded, aand tookt Aant Blanch’s arm.
“Araeh!” zes haw, “I dednt mane no harm.”
So then Aant Blanch and he ded talk and jest
Bout dabbing clay and bricks at Petran feast.
_Saundry._ Ahah then, Mal, ’twas there they dabbed the clay?
_Mal._ Plaase Father, Kemp, tes true wot I do saay.
And hire me now, pla-sure, haw dedent budge
From Aanty’s arm till jest this side Long Brudge.
Aand then zes he to Aant, “Shall we go in
To Aafe-way house, and have a dram of gin
And trickle mixt? Depend ol do es good,
Taake up the sweat, and set to rights the blud.”
So Aant did saay, “Such things she dedn’t chuse,”
And squeezed my hand, aand loike a thing refuse.
So when we pass’d along by Wheal Bog moor,
Haw jumpt behind, and pok’t es in the door.
Haw caal’d for gin, aand brandy too, I think.
He clunk’d the brandy, we the gin did drink.
So when haw wish’d good night, as es the caase,
Haw kiss’t Aant Blanch, and jist neen touched my face.
Now, Saundry Kemp, there’s nothing shure in this,
To my moinde, then, that thee shust take amiss.
_Saundry._ No, fath, then Mal, ef this is all aand true,
I had a done the same ef I was jue.
_Mal._ Next time in any house I see or near am,
I’ll down upon the plancheon, rat am, tear am,
Aand I will so poaw am.
_Saundry._ Our Kappen’s there, just by thickey bush.
Hush! now Mally, hush!
Aand as hes here, so close upon the way,
I wedent wish haw nawed what we did zay,
And jett I dedent care, now fath and soul,
Ef so be our Kappen wor to hire the whole.
How arry Kappen? Where be going so fast?
Jure goin’ hum, suppose, jure in sich haste.
_Kappen._ Who’s that than? Saundry, arten thee ashamed
To coosy so again? Thee wust be blamed
Ef thees stay here all night to prate wi’ Mal!
When tes thy cour, thee wusten come to Bal.
Aand thee art a Cobbe, I tell thee so.
I’ll tell the owners ef thee dosent go.
_Saundry._ Why, harkee, Kappen, doant skoal poor I.
Touch pipe a crum, jue’ll naw the reason why.
Cozen Mal aand I ben courtain bout afe a year.
Hould up tha head, Mal; don’t be ashamed, dost hire?
Aand Crull one day made grief ’tween I and she;
But he shall smart for it now, I swear by G——.
Haw told me lies, as round as any cup.
Now Mal and I have mit, we’ve made it up;
So, Kappen, that’s the way I stopt, I vow.
_Kappen._ Ahah! I dedent giss the case jist now.
But what dost think of that last batch of ore?
_Saundry._ Why pewer and keenly gossen, Kappen, shure
I bleeve that day, ef Frankey’s pair wornt drunk,
We shud had pewer stuff too from the sump.
But there, tes all good time, as people saay,
The flooken now, aint throw’d es far away;
So hope to have bra tummells soon to grass.
How did laast batch down to Jandower pass?
_Kappen._ Why, hang thy body, Saundry, speed, I saay,
Thees keep thy clacker going till tes day.
Go speak to Mally now, jue foolish toad.
I wish both well, I’ll keep my road.
_Saundry._ Good nightie, Kappen, then I wishee well.
Where artee, Mally? Dusten haw hire me, Mal?
Dusent go away, why jue must think of this,
Before we part, shure we must have a kiss.
_She wiped her muzzle from the mundic stuff_,
_And he rubb’d his, a little stain’d with snuff_.
Now then, there, good night Mal, there’s good night;
But, stop a crum.
_Mally._ Good night.
_Kappen._ Good night.
_Keendle teening_, candle lighting.
_Squarded hat_, broken or cracked hat.
_Lem ma naw_, let me know, tell me.
_Wheal Bog_, wheal, or, correctly spelt, huel, is old Cornish, and
signifies a mine or work.
_Doat figs_, broad figs.
_A cobbe_, a cobbler, a bungler.
_Bra tummills_, brave heaps, large piles of ore.
FOOTNOTES
[1] Another tradition affirms that one of the sons of Cyrus lies buried
beneath the Longstone.
[2] See 1st Series, p. 198.
[3] St Breock or Briock, a bishop of a diocese in Armorica, is said to
have been the patron saint of St Breage. But there is a Cornish distich,
“Germow Mathern, Breaga Lavethas.” Germoe was a king, Breaga a midwife,
which rather favours the statement that St Breage was a sister of St
Leven. Breage and Germoe are adjoining parishes, having the shores of
the Mount’s Bay for their southern boundaries. When the uncultivated
inhabitants of this remote region regarded a wreck as a “God-send,” and
plundered without hesitation every body, living or dead, thrown upon
the shore, these parishes acquired a melancholy notoriety. The sailors’
popular prayer being,
“God keep us from rocks and shelving sands,
And save us from Breage and Germoe men’s lands.”
Happily those days are almost forgotten. The ameliorating influences of
the Christian faith, which was let in upon a most benighted people by
John Wesley, like a sunbeam, dispelled those evil principles, and gave
birth to pure and simple virtues.
[4] Leland, cited by William of Worcester from the Cornish Calendar at St
Michael’s Mount. Michell’s “Parochial History of Saint Neot’s.”
[5] Carew’s Survey, Lord Dedunstanville’s edition, p. 305. See “The Well
of St Keyne,” by Robert Southey, in his “Ballads and Metrical Tales,”
vol. i.; or of Southey’s collected works, vol. vi.
St Keyne, or St Kenna, is said to have visited St Michael’s Mount, and
imparted this peculiar virtue to a stone chair on the tower.
[6] See Gilbert, vol. iii. p. 329. See Appendix A. The name of this saint
is written Piran, Peran, and Perran.
[7] _See_ Perran-Zabuloe, with an Account of the Past and Present State
of the Oratory of St Piran in the Sands, and Remarks on its Antiquity. By
the Rev. Wm. Haslam, B.A., and by the Rev. Collins Trelawney.
St Kieran, the favourite Celtic saint, reached Scotland from Ireland, the
precursor of St Columba, (565 A.D.) “The cave of St Kieran is still shewn
in Kintyre, where the first Christian teacher of the Western Highlands is
believed to have made his abode.”—_Wilson’s Prehistoric Annals._
There is a curious resemblance between the deeds and the names of those
two saints.
[8] See Appendix B.
[9] See Appendix C.
[10] TINTAGEL is the usual name. Gilbert, in his “Parochial History,” has
it, “DUNDAGELL, _alias_ DYNDAGELL, _alias_ BOSITHNEY;” in “Doomsday-book”
it is called “DUNECHEINE.” Tonkin writes “Dindagel or Daundagel,” and
sometimes DUNGIOGEL. “A King Nectan, or St Nectan, is said to have built
numerous churches in several parts of Scotland, as well as in other parts
of the kingdom of the Northern Picts.”—_Wilson’s Prehistoric Annals of
Scotland._
[11] It is called indifferently Nectan, Nathan, Nighton, or Knighton’s
Kieve.
[12] Rambles beyond Railways. By Wilkie Collins. Mr Collins was curiously
misled by those who told him the tradition. The building which these
strange solitary women inhabited was St Nectan’s, or, as he and many
others write it, St Nighton’s, Chapel, and not a cottage. They died, as
Mr Collins describes it; but either he, or those from whom he learned
the tale, has filled in the picture from imagination. I perceive, on
referring to Mr Walter White’s admirable little book, “A Londoner’s Walk
to the Land’s End,” that he has made the same mistake about the cottage.
[13] Appendix D.
[14] Parochial History, vol. iii. p. 423.
[15] It is curious that the farm over which some of this water flows is
called “Collurian” to this day.
[16] See another story of this wretched woman in the section devoted to
Demons and Spectres. 1st Series.
[17] Hals, speaking of Gulval Well, thus describes it and its
virtues:—“In Fosses Moor, part of this manor of Lanesly, in this parish,
is that well-known fountain called Gulval Well. To which place great
numbers of people, time out of mind, have resorted for pleasure and
profit of their health, as the credulous country people do in these days,
not only to drink the waters thereof, but to inquire after the life
or death of their absent friends; where, being arrived, they demanded
the question at the well whether such a person by name be living, in
health, sick, or dead. If the party be living and in health, the still
quiet water of the well-pit, as soon as the question is demanded, will
instantly bubble or boil up as a pot, clear crystalline water; if sick,
foul and puddle waters; if the party be dead, it will neither bubble,
boil up, nor alter its colour or still motion. However, I can speak
nothing of the truth of those supernatural facts from my own sight or
experience, but write from the mouths of those who told me they had seen
and proved the veracity thereof. Finally, it is a strong and courageous
fountain of water, kept neat and clean by an old woman of the vicinity,
to accommodate strangers, for her own advantage, by blazing the virtues
and divine qualities of those waters.”—_Hals, quoted by Gilbert_,
_Parochial History of Cornwall_, vol. ii. p. 121.
[18] “Tales of the West,” by the author of “Letters from the East.”
[19] The tale of “The Legend of Pacorra.”
[20] “Popular Tales of the West Highlands,” by J. F. Campbell. (See page
134, vol. ii.)
[21] Notes and Queries.
[22] Gilbert, vol. i. p. 291.
[23] Carew.
[24] “Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales,” by James O. Halliwell.
[25] See “Thomas of the Thumb, or _Tómas na h’ordaig_,” Tale lxix.
“Popular Tales of the West Highlands,” by J. F. Campbell.
[26] “Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales,” by James O. Halliwell.
[27] Camden’s “Britannica,” by Gough, vol. i., p. 139. From this author
we do not learn much. Indeed he says—“As to that Constantine, whom Gildas
calls ‘that tyrannical whelp of the impure Danmonian lioness,’ and of the
disforesting of the whole country under King John, before whose time it
was all forest, let historians tell—it is not to my purpose.” vol. i. p.
8.
[28] Milton’s “History of Britain,” edit. 1678, p. 155.
[29] Vellan (mill), druchar (wheel.)
[30] Carew says, “a promontory, (by _Pomp. Mela_, called Bolerium; by
_Diodorus_, Velerium; by _Volaterane_, Helenium; by the Cornish, Pedn an
laaz; and by the English, the Land’s-End.)”—_Survey of Cornwall._
[31] Penꞃiðꞅꞇeoꞃꞇ.—The name of the Land’s-End in the Saxon map; in the
text, Camden prints Penꞃihꞇꞅꞇeoꞃꞇ.
[32] “CASTELL-AN-DINAS.—In the parish of St Colomb Major stands a castle
of this name. Near this castle, by the highway, stands the Coyt, a stony
tumulus so called, of which sort there are many in Wales and Wiltshire,
as is mentioned in the ‘Additions to Camden’s Britannia’ in these places,
commonly called the Devil’s Coyts. It consists of four long stones of
great bigness, perpendicularly pitched in the earth contiguous with each
other, leaving only a small vacancy downwards, but meeting together at
the top; over all which is laid a flat stone of prodigious bulk and
magnitude, bending towards the east in way of adoration, (as Mr Lhuyd
concludes of all those Coyts elsewhere,) as the person therein under
it interred did when in the land of the living; but how or by what art
this prodigious flat stone should be placed on the top of the others,
amazeth the wisest mathematicians, engineers, or architects to tell or
conjecture. Colt, in Belgic-British, is a cave, vault, or cott-house, of
which coyt might possibly be a corruption.”—_Gilbert’s Parochial History._
[33] In the Manor of Lambourn is an ancient barrow, called Creeg Mear,
the Great Barrow, which was cut open by a labourer in search of stones
to build a hedge. He came upon a small hollow, in which he found nine
urns filled with ashes; the man broke them, supposing they were only old
pitchers, good for nothing; but Tonkin, who saw them, believes them to
have been Danish, containing the ashes of some chief commanders slain in
battle; and, says he, on a small hill just under this barrow is a Danish
encampment, called Castle Caer Dane, vulgo Castle Caer Don,—_i.e._, the
Danes’ Camp,—consisting of three entrenchments finished, and another
begun, with an intent to surround the inner three, but not completed; and
opposite to this, about a bowshot, the river only running between, on
another hill is another camp or castle, called Castle Kaerkief, castrum
simile, from Kyfel similis, alike alluding to Castle Caer Dane. But this
is but just begun, and not finished in any part, from which I guess
there were two different parties, the one attacking the other before the
entrenchments were finished.
[34] C. S. Gilbert’s Historical Survey.
[35] Gilbert.
[36] See Popular Tales from the Norse. By George Webbe Dasent, D.C.L.
Legends of Iceland, collected by Jón Arnason. Translated by George E. J.
Powell and Eirékur Magnússon.
[37] _Notes and Queries_, vol. viii. p. 618.
[38] “I shall offer a conjecture touching the name of this place, which
I will not say is right, but only probable. _Tin_ is the same as _Din_,
_Dinas_, and _Dixeth_, deceit; so that _Tindixel_, turned, for easier
pronunciation, to _Tintagel_, _Dindagel_, or _Daundagel_, signifies
_Castle of Deceit_, which name might be aptly given to it from the
famous deceit practised here by Uter Pendragon by the help of Merlin’s
enchantment.”—_Tonkin._
“Mr Hals says this place is called _Donecheniv_ in ‘Domesday Survey.’
_Dunechine_ would mean the fortress of the chasm, corresponding precisely
with its situation.”—_Davies Gilbert._
[39] Gilbert, vol. ii. p. 402, _et seq._
[40] Gruter’s Collection of Ancient Inscriptions, quoted by J. C.
Pritchard.
[41] The Parson’s.
[42] The Beacon.
[43] See Appendix E.
[44] See Appendix F, “_Saracen_.”
[45] “They maintaine these works to have been verie auncient, and first
wrought by the _Jewes_ with Pickaxes of Holme-Boxe and Hartshorne. They
prove this by the name of those places yet enduring, to wit, _Attall
Sarazin_, in English, the _Jewes Offcast_, and by those tooles daily
found amongst the rubble of such workes.”—_Survey of Cornwall. Carew._
(Appendix F.)
[46] Is this supported by the statement of Dr Stillingfleet, Bishop of
Worcester, who says, “The Christian religion was planted in the Island of
Great Britain during the time of the apostles, and probably by St Paul”?
[47] “Some are sent, like the spirit Gathon in Cornwall, to work the will
of his master in the mines.”—_Mrs Bray’s Traditions of Devonshire._
Who was the spirit Gathon?
“The miner starts as he hears the mischievous Gathon answering blow for
blow the stroke of his pickaxe, or deluding him with false fires, noises,
and flames.”—_A Guide to the Coasts of Devon and Cornwall. Mackenzie
Walcott, M.A._