Returning somewhat late on the following evening, from a long ramble to
see remarkable places in the neighbourhood, we found the manager of
Zennor stamps and the other old cronies seated in their accustomed
places by the fireside.
Shortly after the landlord came in from his work. He was a sturdy
fellow of fifty or thereaway, burnt as brown as a berry. Most of his
time was passed at work on his farm; he had a good size one for that
part of Zennor, and the public-house was left to his wife’s management.
During the evening, after much coaxing, our host told the story which
his wife had spoken of as a true one: telling how a company of
smugglers, of his acquaintance, had been driven away from Market-jew
Green by small-folks (fairies.)
There is some hope that all the fairy-folk have not yet entirely
forsaken this neighbourhood, as there are persons now living who have
seen them dancing and holding their revels on the Eastern Green within
the last fifty years. At that time, however, there were many acres of
grass-grown sandy banks there; and a broad belt of soft green-sward,
which skirted the carriage road, afforded a pleasant walk from
Chyandour to Market-jew bridge.
Great part of this green has now been swept away by the waves, and much
of what the sea spared has been enclosed by the grasping owners of
adjacent land, though their right to this ancient common is very
questionable.
The following fairy adventure was told to me a short time since by a
grave elderly man who heard it related by the principal person
concerned in it.
Tom Warren, of Paul, was noted as one of the boldest smugglers round.
On a summer’s night, about forty years ago, he and five other men
landed a boat-load of smuggled goods at a short distance from Long
Rock. The brandy, salt, &c., having been taken above high-water mark,
two of the men departed for Market-jew, where their best customers
lived, and one went over to Newtown to procure horses that the goods
might be secured before daybreak.
Tom and the other two, being very tired, lay down by a heap of goods,
hoping to get a doze whilst their comrades were away. They were soon
disturbed, however, by the shrill “tweeting” of “feapers” (slit quills
or reeds, which give a shrill note when blown in.) Besides there was a
constant tinkling, just like old women make by rattling pewter plates
or brass pans to frighten their swarming bees home, or to make them
settle.
The men thought this noise might be from a company of young folks
keeping up a dance on the Green till a very late hour. Tom went to see
who they were and to send them home, for it wasn’t desirable for
everybody to pry into the fair traders’ business. Having passed the
beach, he mounted a high sand-bank to have a look round, as the music
seemed very near him.
At a little distance, in hollows, between sand-banks, he saw glimmering
lights, and persons like gaily dressed dolls skipping about and
whirling round. Going nearer, he beheld, perched on a pretty high bank
in their midst, a score or so of little old-looking chaps; many of them
blew in mouth-organs (Pan’s pipes); some beat cymbals or tambourines;
whilst others played on jew’s-harps, or tweeted on May whistles and
feapers.
Tom noticed that the little men were rigged all in green, except their
scarlet caps (small people are so fond of that coloured head-gear that
they used to be nick-named “red-caps.”) But what struck him and tickled
his fancy most was to see the little, old, grave-looking pipers with
their long beards wagging.
In moving their mouths over the reeds, stuck in their breasts, they
looked more like buck goats than anything human, so Tom said; and that
for the life of him he couldn’t forbear shouting—“Will ’e be shaved—
will ’e be shaved old red-caps?”
He hailed them twice, and was about to do so again when all the
dancers, with scores and hundreds more than he noticed at first sprang
up, ranged themselves in rank and file; armed themselves in an instant
with bows and arrows, spears and slings; then faced about, looking like
vengeance. The band being disposed alongside, played a quick march, and
the troops of “spriggans” stamped on towards Tom, who saw them getting
taller as they approached him. Their threatening looks were so
frightful that he turned tail and ran down to his comrades, and roused
them, saying, “Put to sea for your lives. There’s thousands of small
people and bucca-boos ’most on our backs! They’ll soon surround us!”
Tom made off to the boat, and his comrades followed close at his heels;
but, on the way, a shower of pebbles fell on them, and “burned like
coals ’o fire wherever they hit them.”
The men pulled many fathoms from shore before they ventured to look up,
though they knew themselves safe when on the sea, because none of the
fairy tribe dare touch salt water.
At length, casting a glance landward, they saw, ranged along the shore,
a company of as ugly-looking creatures as they ever beheld, making
threatening gestures and vain endeavours to sling stones at them.
When a furlong or so from land, the men rested on their oars, and kept
watching their assailants, till near daybreak; then horses being heard
galloping along the road from Market-jew, the small people retreated to
the sand-banks and the smugglers rowed to land. Tom again shouted to
the retiring host, “We’ll shave ’e all, and cut your tails off, ef you
ever show here any more.” But the fairies disdained to notice his
impudence and presently disappeared.
The other smugglers, who were now on the beach with plenty of help, on
seeing their mates leaving the boat, inquired if the riding-officer had
hove in sight. In such a case smugglers usually took to sea that they
might not be known; they didn’t mind his seeing the goods, for the most
valuable would be secured before the king’s men came to take them.
After spileing an anker (tapping a keg) and treating all the neighbours
who came to help or purchase, or both, Tom related how they had to run
for their lives and take to sea in order to escape an army of
small-people. Some could scarcely believe it, though others thought the
story likely enow. All blamed Tom for mocking the fairies, and said bad
luck would cross his path, ere long, for that night’s work. Aye, and
their forebodings were verified before another summer came round.
However, without further mishap for that night, the goods were quickly
disposed of—the greater part in Market-jew, and the rest left at an old
tin work, near the Marsh, till wanted.
We have not heard of fairies having been seen on the Eastern Green
since they were thus shamefully derided by Tom Warren.
“They’re never was a better pare (company) of fair-traders than Tom and
his mates,” continued the landlord, “and they found good customers in
the old well-to-do farmers of Zennor, who dearly loved their toddy, the
Lord rest them.”