One of the grimmest yet most fascinating tracts of moorland in the West
is that wild, boulder-strewn district behind St. Just in Penwith, near
the Land's End. Here, amid a scene of savage beauty, wind-swept by the
great gales from the Atlantic, is a stretch of treeless moor the richest
in all Cornwall in remains of prehistoric man.
There is something eerie about this furthest west corner of England and
around it cluster legends galore. One of the queerest is that of the
Hooting Carn, a bleak hill between St. Just and Morvah.
Cam Kenidzhek is its real name, but they are taking now to spelling it
as it is pronounced--Carn Kenidjack. From it weird moaning sounds arise
at night, and the strangely named Gump, a level track just below the
summit, was, they say, the scene of a grim midnight struggle in the very
old days.
It happened that one moonless night two miners, walking back to their
homes from Morvah, passed by the base of the Hooting Carn. They knew its
ill repute and hurried along in silence, their fears not allayed by the
fact that on this night the moaning of the Carn was more persistent than
usual, and that an unearthly light seemed to illuminate the rocks on
its summit. Presently, to their great alarm, there sounded behind them
the thunder of galloping hoofs. Turning in fear, they saw a dark-robed
figure, with a hood covering his face, approaching. As he dashed
past, he signed to them to follow, and, as they explained later, some
irresistible force made them obey. Without knowing how they did so, they
were able to keep pace with the galloping steed and arrived swiftly near
the top of the hill.
There the dark horseman dismounted, and the miners, terrified, found
that they had been brought into the midst of a wild company of men of
huge size, with long, unkempt hair and beards, their faces daubed with
bright colours, and all engaged at the moment in singing a reckless
chorus which concluded in an uncanny hooting sound. But the arrival
of the dark rider brought the demoniac singing to an end. A circle
was quickly formed, and two men, more huge and more terrible than
any present, were brought forward to contest in a wrestling match.
The horseman, squatting on the ground, gave the signal to begin, but
after a few preliminary moves the wrestlers complained that the
light was insufficient. Then the squatting demon--for such he proved
to be--flashed from his eyes two great beams of fire that lit the
whole ring.
The struggle then proceeded, amid the wild yells of the onlookers. At
last one of the wrestlers lifted his opponent clear off his feet, and
hurled him to the ground with stupendous force. There was a sound like
thunder as he fell, and he lay as one dead. At once the whole ring broke
into confusion and crowded round the victor. This seemed to the miners
grossly unfair play, and they went over to the fallen man to give him
what aid they could.
They found him in a terrible state, and, since no aid was available, one
of them started to offer up a prayer for the dying man's soul.
With his first words the utmost consternation fell upon the company.
A great clap of thunder shook the rocks, a pitchy darkness covered the
scene, and a fierce wind swept the hill. Then, looking upward, the
miners saw the whole company--the dying man with them--disappearing
northward in a dense black cloud, the two blazing eyes of the demon who
had led them to the Carn being clearly distinguishable for some time.
Paralysed with fear, the miners remained where they were, until
returning daylight broke the evil spell and permitted them to proceed to
their homes and explain to their neighbours the secret of the Hooting
Carn.
Carn Kenidjack you may reach by a glorious tramp across the moors from
St. Just, to which a Great Western motor-coach goes many times daily
from Penzance. From the higher ground you will get magnificent coast
views, embracing, on a clear day, the distant land of the Scillies.
All about the moor you will find the strange relics of a former race:
stone circles, barrows, cromlechs, and prehistoric dwellings mingling
with the fern and heather and stunted grass of the hillside, and you
breathe in tonic air that has come to you across two thousand miles of
ocean.
[Illustration: _The Hooting Carn_]
[Illustration]