Harry Carter, smuggler, privateer and revivalist, was born on a small
farm at Pengersick in 1749. His father, who was a miner by trade, eked
out a livelihood, with the assistance of his sons and daughters, in
farming a small plot of ground. Harry Carter tells us in his memoirs[58]
that he was one of a family of eight sons and two daughters; that his
eldest and youngest brothers received some scanty education at Germoe
School, but that he and the rest of his family received no education
beyond some crude home lessons in reading, given through the medium of
the Bible. The problem of daily bread in the household of his parents
was of much too pressing a nature to allow more than this in the way of
education. As soon as strength permitted, the children had to go forth
to work in the fields or the mines, that each might bring his share of
daily bread to the common store. Though life was thus hard, the
principles of religion were not neglected in the home, the children
being taught to recite some prayers "after they were in bed" and to
attend when possible the services at Germoe Church. His youth coincided
with the strange stirrings in the religious life of the people brought
about by the not infrequent peregrinations of John Wesley through the
district. When Harry was eight years of age the soul of his brother
Francis was touched at one of those wild scenes of religious
revivalism, and as the two brothers slept together, the little lad of
eight became strangely impressed and awed by the change in the demeanour
of his brother. He tells us, however, that these impressions of awe
gradually faded out of his youthful mind. At ten he was sent to work at
the mines on the surface, and he continued there for seven years, when
he went to join his elder brothers in a more adventurous and stirring
life upon which they had entered at Porthleah, soon to change its name
to Prussia Cove.
Before we proceed further with the story of Harry Carter, it may be well
to say something about Porthleah, so soon to become famous as a
smugglers' haunt. Between Cudden Point on the west and Enys Point on the
south lie three little coves. The one nearest to Cudden Point is called
Pixies' Cove. This cove is too rocky and exposed to be used as a
harbour, but its precipitous sides are riddled with caves suitable for
the smugglers' trade. Next to Pixies' Cove comes Bessie's Cove, called
after a wild character, Bessie Burrows, who there kept the Kiddlewink
Inn, a famous rendezvous of the smugglers plying their lawless trade
along the coast. Bessie's Cove is altogether hidden from view till the
edge of the cliffs are reached which form its precipitous sides. A
rugged road leads up the face of the cliff from Bessie's Cove, and at
certain points in the ascent caves open into the recesses of the rocks.
To the east of Bessie's Cove lies Porthleah, now known as Prussia Cove.
The name Prussia Cove came to be given to it from John Carter, the elder
brother of Harry, who soon came to be the acknowledged head of all the
smuggling fraternity along the coast. In his youth John Carter had been
the leader of his fellows in all boyish games, and stories of the great
Frederick, King of Prussia, having penetrated to the remote West of
Cornwall, had so fascinated the mind of this adventurous lad that he
dubbed himself King of Prussia. This name not only stuck to him for the
rest of his life, but it has stuck ever since to the little territory of
Porthleah over which he ruled with an iron hand.
The occupation of the Carter brothers at Prussia Cove was nominally that
of peaceful fishermen, but in reality that of daring smugglers. From
this quiet and secluded nook in the coast Harry Carter began his career
by making several voyages as supercargo of contraband in Folkestone and
Irish luggers. Like so many men of his time and country anxious to
make their way in the world, Harry Carter lost no opportunity of
self-education, and rapidly made himself proficient in a rude system of
accounts. At twenty-five he found himself in command of a small sloop of
sixteen or eighteen tons and a crew of two men, busily engaged in the
exciting trade of importer of contraband goods. The sun shone upon his
illegal efforts, and so great was his success that he soon succeeded in
making himself master of a sloop of thirty-two tons; but his vaulting
ambition aspired to still greater things, and the success that fortune
so often extends to new and inexperienced players was still his. The
sloop of thirty-two tons was quickly exchanged for one of fifty tons and
a crew of ten men; and this in its turn soon gave place to a
heavily-armed cutter of sixteen guns and a crew of thirty-two men. At
this time there seemed no cloud on his horizon, save gloomy religious
thoughts that came welling up in his heart. He was greatly troubled
about the sin of swearing and his lack of assurance that he was a "saved
man," but not a whit about the dishonest and lawless nature of his
calling. Having obtained from Government a licence to sail as a
privateer in the American War, and with strict injunctions to his crew
against all swearing on board, he set sail in December, 1777, in search
of adventures and profit on a wider and more extensive scale; but his
star was no longer in the ascendant, and the favours of fickle fortune
were to be denied him for many a long year. Off the French coast his
bowsprit was carried away, and he put into St. Malo for repairs, little
recking of the momentous transpirings since he had sailed from Penzance
Bay; for France had entered into alliance with the revolted American
colonies, and was now at war with England. Carter thus sailed his
heavily-armed cutter into a trap, out of which there was no escape. He
and his men were made prisoners, and his ship and all that she contained
became a French prize of war. "The King of Prussia," who happened to be
on "business" at this time in the Channel Islands, hastened to his
rescue, and attempted to explain matters to his captors. The attempt was
a foolish one, and he soon found himself locked up with his brother
Harry and the crew of the cutter in a French prison. Their captivity
proved a hard and tedious one, but like the men of resource and purpose
that they were, they at once set to work to make the best of their
situation by learning the French language, whilst Harry, in addition,
beguiled the ennui of his captivity by the study of navigation, which in
after years served him in good stead. The two brothers did not obtain
their liberty until after a captivity of two years, when freedom came to
them in an exchange of prisoners.
Harry Carter on his return home refitted his old fifty-ton cutter and
made several successful smuggling runs. One of these runs was attended
with unpleasant consequences, which nearly proved disastrous. He had
sailed to deliver a contraband cargo in South Wales; on reaching the
Welsh coast he left his cutter lying off the Mumbles whilst he landed to
make final arrangements about running the cargo. In his absence the
cutter was mistaken by a cruiser for one of the Dunkirk privateers,
which at this time were haunting the Welsh coast like birds of prey,
snapping up vessels engaged in the coasting trade. These privateers were
for the most part commanded and manned, Carter tells us, by Irishmen.
The crew of the cutter, seeing the cruiser bearing down upon them, put
out to sea to save their cargo of contraband, and soon succeeded in
eluding the cruiser by superior speed. On giving up the chase the
cruiser sent a boat on shore, and Carter was arrested as the captain of
the Irish pirate. The matter ended in his being detained on suspicion
for twelve weeks, and his ultimate liberation was only brought about by
the representations of his Cornish friends to the Admiralty. With the
exception of this slight overclouding of his horizon, things still
continued for some time to prosper with him. On his return home he
informs us that "he rode about the country getting freights and
collecting money for the 'company.'" Indeed, things continued for some
time to prosper so well with the "company" that soon another large
cutter of one hundred and sixty tons, and carrying nineteen guns, was
purchased by them, whilst they gave orders for the building of a lugger
mounting twenty guns. These two vessels when fitted out sailed, under
the supreme command of Harry Carter, on voyages of illicit merchandise.
No wonder, under the circumstances, Harry Carter began to fancy himself
again, as he tells us in his memoirs; but there was, alas! a fly in the
ointment. In the pride of his prosperity and self-satisfaction swear
words began continually to slip out of his lips; this weighed at times
heavily on his soul and plunged him in deep spiritual gloom. It was
evidently words and not deeds that counted in this man's creed.
His relations with the collector of Customs and preventive officers seem
to have been of the most friendly character, and herein lay most
probably the secret of his success as a smuggler; indeed, the friendship
of Carter with these officials helps us to understand the cause of the
extreme prosperity of the smuggling industry along the Cornish coast at
this period. In December, 1780, Harry Carter was lying in Newlyn Road
aboard his cutter, with her consort the lugger alongside, when a
messenger came from his friend the collector of Customs, saying that a
Dunkirk privateer, called the Black Prince, and bearing a terrible
reputation, was off St. Ives, committing many depredations upon the
local shipping. The collector concluded his message by asking him to
capture the privateer and so end the reign of terror along the coast.
This duty was not at all to Harry Carter's liking; but, considering his
business, it was a dangerous thing to displease the collector of
Customs, and so with not a few qualms he set out upon the dangerous
enterprise of actual warfare. He put round to St. Ives with his two
vessels, and anchored off that town. On Christmas Day, in the morning,
the redoubtable Black Prince hove in sight, and Carter sailed out of St.
Ives Bay with his two ships to engage her. The Black Prince immediately
put about and made for the open sea, a running fight ensuing between
pursuers and pursued. The lugger in the pursuit soon received a fatal
shot, which caused her to rapidly fill and sink with all hands on board.
In the meantime Carter, having had his jib carried away by a shot and
another planted in his hull, thought it high time to abandon the pursuit
of the Black Prince; he was thus able to bear up and rescue seventeen of
the lugger's crew of thirty-one, but the rest found a watery grave.
Carter tells us: "Before we came up with the privateer, in expecting to
come to an engagement, oh! what horror was on my mind for fear of death!
as I knew I must come to judgment sure and 'sartin.' I feared if I died
I should be lost for ever. Notwithstanding all this I made the greatest
outward show of bravery, and through pride and presumption exposed
myself to the greatest danger. I stood on the companion until the wad of
the enemy's shot flew in fire about me, and I suppose the wind of the
shot struck me down on the deck, as the shot took in the mainsail right
in a line with me. One of my officers helped me up and thought I was
wounded, and he would suffer me to go there no more."
In 1786 Carter married Elizabeth Flindel, of Helford, and in the
following year was born his only child, Elizabeth Carter. In January,
1788, happened the great disaster of his life. In attempting to land a
cargo of smuggled goods in Cawsand Bay, he was surprised by boats sent
off by a man-of-war. He and his crew attempted to offer an armed
resistance; the cutter was quickly boarded by the boat's crew, and
Carter himself received a severe cutlass wound upon the head and was
left lying upon the deck of his ship for dead. He was able to retain
consciousness all the time, and when unobserved, with great difficulty,
he managed to plunge into the water. Luckily he was seen by sympathisers
on the shore, who only succeeded with great difficulty, on account of
his wounded and exhausted condition, in bringing him safely to land.
This adventure was to cost Carter dear, and it proved the culminating
point in his career; henceforth the sun of good fortune only shone upon
his path in fitful and watery gleams. In spite of the serious wound from
which he was suffering, his friends managed in two days to bring him to
the house of his brother Charles at Kenneggie, in Breage; there he and
his friends soon learnt the disquieting intelligence that the Government
had offered a reward of £300 for his capture. It was now necessary for
Carter, in order to avoid arrest, to be removed by night to Marazion.
Soon the scent became too strong, and he again had to be removed in the
dead of night to Acton Castle, then only occupied in the summer months
by its owner, Mr. Stackhouse Pendarves. The land attached to this house
was farmed by the "King of Prussia," who kept the keys of the house in
the absence of the family. In this deserted mansion the wounded man had
to lie in solitude for many weary months. It is said that the doctor who
attended him in this retreat was brought blindfolded by night, and that
on one occasion Carter only eluded justice by hastily assuming the garb
of a woman. In this lonely refuge his disposition at once manifested its
gloomy morbidity and intense practicalness: much time seems to have
been profitably spent in the study of navigation, and much wasted upon
hypochondriacal maunderings upon the condition of his soul, his
occasional proclivity for swear words and lack of assurance as to his
state of salvation. When his wounds healed he used to steal out of his
lair at night to Prussia Cove, returning ere the dawn. On one of these
occasions, as he returned he moralised on the singing of the birds in
the dawn "answering the end for which they were sent into the world, so
that I wished I had been a toad or a serpent or anything, so that I had
no soul. Likewise there was a grey thrush which sang to me night and
morning, which have preached to me many a sermon."
The sermons of this bird, like many other sermons, seem to have produced
no practical effect upon Carter's life. His mind was utterly
untroubled so far as the lawlessness of his life was concerned, or the
questionableness of many of his deeds; indeed, he made careful
preparation for continuance in lawless courses by the study of
navigation.
In the autumn his wife was seized with rapid consumption, and he paid a
pathetic farewell visit to her under the shadow of night at Helford,
whither she had gone with her little girl to be with her parents. He
returned lonely and broken-hearted to his refuge at Acton Castle a
little before the dawn, overwhelmed with the thought that he would see
his wife no more and that he was a ruined and broken man.
On the 24th October, 1788, he was able to obtain a passage to Leghorn on
board the George, a ship sailing from Penzance. From Leghorn he
succeeded in obtaining a passage to New York, where he became reduced to
a condition of extreme poverty, having for a bare pittance to work side
by side in the fields with negro slaves. After many hardships he
determined to brave the terrors of the law and venture back once more
to England. He worked his way back under the American flag, and narrowly
escaped the attentions of the Press Gang in the English Channel. On his
arrival in England he soon found that his native soil was still too hot
for his feet. Under the circumstances he crossed over to Roscoff, on the
French coast, the then capital of the Channel smuggling trade, where he
became the local agent of his brothers. But events moved rapidly in
France under the Revolution. During the Terror, with many other English,
he was arrested and remained under detention for over two years. With
the fall of Robespierre he and his other English fellow-prisoners were
set at liberty. This smuggling Ulysses brought his wanderings to an end
on the 22nd August, 1795. He disembarked on that day at Falmouth, he
tells us, "at three o'clock in the afternoon, where I met my dear little
Bessie, then between eight and nine years old." The following day
happened to be Sunday, and he at an early hour set out for his native
place, reaching Breage a little before eleven o'clock, and meeting his
brother Frank on his way to church.
Harry Carter settled at Rinsey, became a farmer, and continued to reside
there until the day of his death in April, 1829.
John Carter, known as "The King of Prussia," plays a much larger part in
local tradition than his brother Harry, though on Harry fell the more
onerous and dangerous part of facing the perils of the sea and of
hostile shores in pursuit of the smuggler's calling. In those days and
for long after the wild doings of Prussia Cove would be on everyone's
lips; the doings on the lonely deep had no chronicler to magnify them.
Many are the legends that cling round the name of "The King of Prussia":
some of these Mr. Baring-Gould has placed on record in his book "Cornish
Characters and Strange Events." On one occasion John Carter received a
visit from the Revenue officers, who demanded to make a search of his
entire premises. One door remained padlocked, and this they insisted on
having opened; the key not being forthcoming they wrenched the locks
off, but the cellar thus closed proved to be quite innocent of
contraband. On the following day Carter complained to the Revenue
authorities that his unlocked premises had been rifled during the night,
and demanded restitution for his stolen goods, as the Revenue officers
by their violent action had deprived him of the means of securing his
doors. The story runs that Carter himself had removed his property
during the night, and we are asked to believe the somewhat difficult
statement that the Revenue officers under the circumstances paid him the
value of the property he had never lost.
On another occasion we are told that the Revenue authorities seized in
the cellars of Carter a valuable cargo of contraband spirits, which
Carter had already made arrangements to supply to his customers amongst
the surrounding gentry, and that on the following night Carter and his
gang broke into the Custom warehouses, seized the contraband of which
they had been deprived, and proceeded to deliver it to those for whom it
had been originally intended.
His crowning exploit, however, was opening fire with a battery of guns
which he had erected at Prussia Cove, on the boats of the Government
cutter Faery. The Faery was in hot pursuit of a smuggling craft, which
in order to elude her pursuer sailed through a narrow channel between
the Enys rocks and the shore. The Faery, baffled of her prey, lowered
her boats in pursuit, and as these drew into Prussia Cove, Carter opened
fire upon them and beat them off. This seems to have been towards dusk.
Next morning the Faery opened fire from the sea on Carter's shore
battery, whilst mounted troops from Penzance took up their position on
the shore to the rear of his battery, and in turn opened fire upon it.
The smugglers thereupon withdrew to Bessie Burrow's public-house
and prepared for its defence, but received no further attack or
molestation. The whole incident as narrated reveals a strange supineness
on the part of the Customs authorities, which almost suggests connivance
with Carter's delinquencies.
The action of the authorities in the above case is reminiscent of a
story told to the writer by a parishioner. His grandfather, who occupied
a farmhouse on the coast, was awakened in the dead of night by a band of
smugglers, who asked permission to stow a cargo of spirits, which they
had just landed, in his barn under the straw. He demurred on the ground
that if the cargo were discovered there by the authorities he would be
incriminated, but he expressed willingness for it to be hidden in the
hay ricks, contiguous to the barn. Some days afterwards his father, then
a mere youth, was asked to assist in the disposal of some of the kegs,
and, fearful of refusing, consented. Under cloak of night he set out
with the smuggler, each bearing a keg; the way led over fields and by
many devious paths till he found himself climbing the fence at the end
of the garden of a Preventive officer living in Helston. He remonstrated
with his guide at the madness of endeavouring to secrete contraband
spirits in the garden of an Exciseman. In reply he was told to have no
fear, but to do as he was told; the fence was crossed and the keg was
carried through the garden to the back door of the upholder of the law.
The smuggler without trepidation proceeded to knock, and on the door
being opened the kegs were placed inside without parley of any kind.
The grim side of the smuggler's calling and the terrible crimes that
sometimes accompanied it are well illustrated by the gruesome find of
another parishioner recently, close to his farmhouse, under the shadow
of Tregoning Hill. The hind leg of one of the horses of this friend,
whilst ploughing in his field, suddenly sank deep into the ground, and
it was with difficulty that the animal was extricated. The spot from
which the horse's foot was withdrawn revealed a cavity in the ground;
spades were brought and excavations made, which ended in bringing to
light a fair-sized subterranean cellar, whose gruesome contents were a
large knife of foreign make, a skull, a few human bones, some
disintegrated patches of clothing and a small handful of silver and
copper coins, one of which, a shilling of the reign of George II., now
lies on the table of the writer.
From the Carters we turn to a man of a very different type, who made his
way to wealth by sterling integrity and honesty of purpose. William
Lemon was born at Germoe in 1696, and baptized in Breage Church on the
15th November of the same year. He received his education at the village
school, and being a lad of quick intelligence, he became in the first
instance a clerk to a Mr. Coster, connected with the local mining
industry. He distinguished himself when a mere boy on the occasion of a
ship being driven on Praa Sands in the midst of a terrific gale. He and
a party of brave men, who arrived on the scene of the disaster as the
ship was quickly breaking to pieces, formed themselves with great
gallantry into a living chain, extending from the shore into the raging,
angry surf, and so were able to grasp and save the shipwrecked sailors
as they were carried on the waves to the shore. But for these heroic men
thus grasping them they would have been sucked back into the sea and
drowned in the receding waters. Young William Lemon was a lad of
thoughtful and studious disposition, and availed himself of every
opportunity to learn what there was to be learnt of assaying and mine
engineering in the district. Presumably men of education and practical
ability were very scarce in the neighbourhood at this time; at any rate,
whilst little more than a boy he was appointed the manager of
considerable tin smelting works in the neighbourhood of Penzance. At the
age of twenty-eight he married a Miss Isabella Vibart, of Tolver, in
Gulval, a lady of some property. William Lemon was endowed with breadth
of mind and grasp of detail in a marked degree, and the means which his
wife brought him enabled him to bring these faculties into play with the
most successful results. He embarked on prudent and far-sighted mining
speculations, which quickly made him a man of great wealth. He conceived
the idea of working the tin mines on a large scale, and not as hitherto
by small bands or companies of "adventurers," as had been the custom for
some generations.
Though great wealth came to him comparatively early, his character
continued unchanged and unspoilt, and in the midst of his successes he
continued to utilize his leisure in the study of Latin, and in his
middle-age he had attained to no mean knowledge of that tongue. In the
present age the successful developer of mines and floater of mining
companies, spending his leisure in the study of the classics, would be
indeed regarded as strange, but "_autres temps, autres mœurs_."
When success came William Lemon settled in Truro. The kindliness of his
character is well illustrated by an incident at this period of his life.
He had trained a pet Cornish chough so well, and so fond had the bird
become of him, that at his call it would leave its fellows and come and
settle on his hand or his head as he walked along. A lad of the Truro
Grammar School, named John Thomas, who afterwards became Warden of the
Stannaries, accidentally killed this tame bird so dear to the heart of
its owner. In fear and trembling he went to the house of Mr. Lemon, and
confessed his crime. The lad's straightforwardness disarmed all
resentment in the heart of this kindly man, who dismissed him with
friendly words, after praising his openness and manliness of character
in confessing his delinquency.
William Lemon served as High Sheriff of the county, and might have
represented it in Parliament had he so chosen.[59] He ultimately bought
the estate of Carclew, to which place he went to reside in 1749. His
son was created a baronet, and for some years represented Cornwall in
Parliament. This baronetcy became extinct in the succeeding generation.
A friend has shewn the writer some letters of William Lemon, which
reveal him as an affectionate and dutiful son to his aged mother, and
kindly and solicitous for the welfare of all the members of his family.
I venture to transcribe one of these letters, written to his brother at
Germoe, who had been ailing for some time. It reveals a touching faith
in the efficacy of alcohol as a restorer of the vigour of the human
system, which the world has now lost, and also gives a quaint picture of
a bygone age and generation.
The letter is as follows:--
"Truro, 28th September, 1748.
"Dear Brother,
I was much concerned to hear of the illness of you and your family,
and consequently had great satisfaction in hearing of your being
recovered. To comfort and recruit you, I have ordered to be brought
you by this bearer four dozen bottles of wine, of different sorts,
as mentioned on the other side, which I hope you will make use of
with moderation. I cannot omit again pressing you to have
particular attention to the education of your children. It will be
surprising should you neglect this, seeing I have offered to
contribute so much towards it. My good wishes attend you and your
whole family, and I am
Your affectionate brother,
William Lemon."
"Bottles--4 Tent
" 4 Canary
" 12 Mountain
" 28 Port
------------
48 Bottles."
============
It would not be right in a chapter dealing with the worthies and
unworthies of Breage, who have stamped their memories beyond their
fellows upon the local annals, to omit the name of "Captain" Tobias
Martin. Although he was not actually a native of the parish of Breage, a
great portion of his life was passed in the parish as captain of Wheal
Vor Mine. He was born in the parish of Wendron on 5th January, 1747. His
childish years, on account of the poverty of his father, a working
miner, seem to have been practically destitute of all school education.
Indeed, when we examine beneath the surface we find that a century ago
in Western Cornwall school education of any kind seems to have stopped
short with the children of the more well-to-do farmers. Young Tobias
Martin, however, had inherited from his father an active and vigorous
mind, which quickly set itself to grapple with the adverse circumstances
of his surroundings. From a very early age he began to utilise all his
spare time for the purpose of self-education, and in spite of long hours
spent as a working miner, managed amongst other things to acquire a fair
knowledge of Latin and written French. His father, in spite of the hard
circumstances of his life, had possessed a genuine thirst for knowledge
and information of all kinds, and tenderly preserved a few tattered and
meagre volumes as a fountain of light and inspiration. He also possessed
the faculty inherited by his son of stringing jingling rhymes together,
which he regarded as endowed with the fire of genius. In his later years
the father of Tobias Martin, on account of his integrity and superior
education, was promoted by his employers to the post of mine captain.
The life of Tobias Martin practically followed the course of that of his
father. After working for a number of years as an ordinary miner, his
superior education and gifts came to be recognised by a Mr. Sandys, of
Helston, interested in the local mines, and his advancement quickly
followed. Tobias Martin died, aged 81, on 9th April, 1828, and was laid
to rest in Breage Churchyard. The later years of his life were clouded
by false accusations and unjust claims, which led for a time to his
confinement in the Sheriff's Ward at Bodmin. His character was
ultimately completely vindicated by the efforts of Mr. Richard Tyacke,
of Godolphin. Hard upon this trouble followed the brutal murder of his
eldest son in America, which darkened the few remaining years of the old
man's life.
The poems of Tobias Martin were first published in Helston in 1831; a
second edition followed in 1856, and a third in 1885. The poems suggest
the mental attitude of an eighteenth century Cornish Piers Ploughman;
running through them there is a vein of deep resentment at the tyranny
and oppression of the ruling classes, and the lethargy, pride,
hard-heartedness and laxity of the clergy is touched upon with no light
hand. His verses as poetry are utterly valueless, but as garish pictures
of a day that is passed they will always be interesting, if somewhat
painful reading. Martin by his contemporaries was called an atheist.
Judging by his poems, I imagine that he had thought perhaps a little
more than his accusers, who most probably had never thought at all on
the deeper things of life; his soul no doubt was in revolt against the
dead shibboleths and formalism of the age, with which men were
attempting to compound for the brutality and coarseness of their lives.
One looks in vain through Martin's poems for one thought of poetic
beauty or discernment.
Perhaps the following story of Martin, given by Mr. Baring Gould,[60]
will suggest a picture of the man and his communications. It is fair to
add that whilst the following story reveals him as a merry fellow, many
of his poems reveal in him a strain of plaintive melancholy.
Captain Toby was having his pint of ale at a tavern, when in comes a
miner who was wont to be called "Old Blowhard," and was not esteemed
trusty or diligent as a workman.
"How are 'ee, Capp'n?"
"Clever, how art thee?"
"Purty well for health," says Bill, "but I want a job. Can 'ee give us
waun ovver to yur new bal?"
"No, we're full," replied Captain Toby.
"How many men have 'ee goat ovver theere?" asked old Bill Blowhard.
"How many? Why we've two sinking a air-shaft through the flockan, and
two to taackle, and that's fower; and theere's two men in the oddit, and
a booay to car tools and that, and that makes three moore, and that
altogether es seben."
"And how many cappuns have 'ee goat?" said Bill.
"How many? Why ten."
"What! Ten cappuns to watch ovver seben men? I doant b'lieve you can
maake that out, for the venturers wouldn't stand it."
"Tes zackly so then, and I'll make it out to 'ee in a moment. Waun
cappun es 'nough we oal knaw, but at the last mittin the 'venturers
purposed to have waun of the 'venturers sons maade a cappun, and to
larn, they said; and so a draaper's son called Sems, was put weth me
from school, at six pounds a month and a shaare of what we had in the
'count-house."
"Well, but how can 'ee maake ten of you and he?"
"Why I'll tell'ee how, and you mind nother time Bill, for theere's
somethin' of scholarin' in ut. Now see this. I myself am waun, baent I?"
"Iss sure," said Bill.
"Well, and theest aught ta knaw that young Sems is nawthin'; well when
theest ben to school so long as I have, theest knaw that waun with a
nought attached to un do maake ten, and so 'tes zackly like that."
I venture to give one specimen of Tobias Martin's poetry.
"Awake, my soul! the night is past,
The day begins to dawn,
With eager footsteps let me haste
To meet the rising sun.
"But first to heaven's exalted throne
A tribute let me pay,
To Him who hath His mercies shewn,
And sent another day.
"To honest labour then inclined
I'll hasten to the spot,
With cheerful and contented mind,
Where heaven hath cast my lot.
"And there let me my daily task
With busy hands pursue,
And God's assistance humbly ask
In all I have to do.
"Though some despise my mean estate,
I would not have it said
I spend my time in sloth and hate,
Nor earn my daily bread.
"While idle wretches pine and starve,
And nothing good will do,
I'll labour on and try to serve
God and my neighbour to."
It would be unjust not to make mention in concluding this chapter of
Joseph Boaden, who lived his whole life as a small cultivator in the
parish of Breage, and who was laid to rest in Breage Churchyard in
December, 1858. Self-taught, through his life he pursued the study of
higher mathematics and astronomy, and was regarded as a valued
correspondent by Professors Airy and Adams, of Cambridge. Under modern
conditions education has become more diffused, but we look in vain for
men of the type of those whom we have been considering. With its
superficial diffusion knowledge has in a measure lost its prestige and
fascination, and education has been in a sense debased and vulgarised in
the popular mind into a mere instrument of livelihood. The successful
passer of competitive examinations, under the system of cram, with no
true love of knowledge for knowledge's sake in his heart, and who
divests himself of his crapula of potted knowledge the moment a
livelihood with a pension at the end has been attained, has already gone
far to cast learning, so far as the popular mind is concerned, into the
quagmire of contempt.
[Illustration]
FOOTNOTES:
[58] "The Autobiography of a Smuggler," published by Messrs. Pollard, of
Truro, 1894.
[59] See Mr. Baring-Gould's "Cornish Characters and Strange Events" for
many of the factors as given above.
[60] "Cornish Characters and Strange Events."
Local Place Names and Superstitions.