THE CARTER FAMILY, OF PRUSSIA COVE
IN the west of Cornwall, on the south coast of the narrow neck of land
which forms the beginning of that final westerly region known as
“Penwithstart,” is situated Prussia Cove, originally named Porth Leah, or
King’s Cove. It lies just eastwardly of the low dark promontory known as
Cuddan Point, and is even at this day a secluded place, lying remote from
the dull high-road that runs between Helston, Marazion, and Penzance. In
the days of the smugglers Porth Leah, or Prussia Cove, was something more
than secluded, and those who had any business at all with the place came
to it much more easily by sea than by land. This disability was,
however, not so serious as at first sight it would seem to be, for the
inhabitants of Prussia Cove were few, and were all, without exception,
fishermen and smugglers, who were much more at home upon the sea than on
land, and desired nothing so little as good roads and easy communication
with the world. An interesting and authoritative sidelight upon the then
condition of this district of West Cornwall is afforded by _The
Gentleman’s Magazine_ of 1754, in which the entire absence of roads of
any kind is commented upon. Bridle-paths there were, worn doubtless in
the first instance by the remote original inhabitants of this region,
trodden by the Phoenician traders of hoary antiquity, and unaltered in
all the intervening ages. They then remained, says _The Gentleman’s
Magazine_, “as the Deluge left them, and dangerous to travel over.” That
time of writing was the era when these conditions were coming to an end,
for the road from Penryn to Marazion was shortly afterwards constructed,
much to the alarm and disgust of the people of West Cornwall in general,
and of those of Penzance in particular. Penzance required no roads, and
in 1760 its Corporation petitioned, but unsuccessfully, against the
extension of the turnpike road then proposed, from Marazion. That was
the time when there was but one cart in the town, and when wheeled
traffic was impossible outside it: pack-horses and the sledge-like
contrivances known as “truckamucks” being the only methods of conveying
such few goods as were required.
Under these interesting social conditions the ancient semi-independence
of Western Cornwall remained, little impaired. Many still spoke the
older Cornish language; the majority of folk referred to Devonshire and
the country in general beyond the Tamar as “England”—the inference being,
of course, that Cornwall itself was _not_ England—and smuggling was as
usual an industry as tin and copper-mining, fishing, or farming. Indeed
the distances in Western Cornwall between sea and sea are so narrow that
any man was commonly as excellent at farming as he was at fishing, and as
expert at smuggling as at either of those more legitimate occupations.
This amphibious race, wholly Celtic, adventurous, and enthusiastic, was
not readily amenable to the restrictions upon trade imposed by that
shadowy, distant, and impersonal abstraction called “the Government,”
supported by visible forces, in the way of occasional soldiers or
infrequent revenue cruisers, wherewith to make the collectors of customs
at Penzance, Falmouth, or St. Ives, respected.
“The coasts here swarm with smugglers,” wrote George Borlase, of
Penzance, agent to Lieut.-General Onslow, in 1750. Many letters by the
same hand, printed in the publications of the Royal Institution of
Cornwall, under the title of the “Lanisley Letters,” reiterate this
statement, the writer of them urging the establishment of a military
force at Helston, for “just on that neighbourhood lye the smugglers and
wreckers, more than about us (at Penzance), tho’ there are too many in
all parts of the country.”
The Cornish of that time were an unregenerate race, in the fullest sense
of that term, and indulged in all the evil excesses to which the Celtic
nature, untouched by religion, and wallowing in ancient superstitions, is
prone. They drank to excess, fought brutally, and were shameless
wreckers, who did not hesitate to lure ships upon the rocks and so bring
about their destruction and incidentally their own enrichment by the
cargo and other valuables washed ashore. Murder was a not unusual
corollary of the wreckers’ fearful trade, partly because of the olden
superstition that, if you saved the life of a castaway, that person whom
you had preserved would afterwards bring about your own destruction.
Therefore it was merely the instinct of self-preservation, and not sheer
ferocity, that prompted the knocking on the head of such waifs and
strays. If, at the same time, the wrecker went over the pockets of the
deceased, or cut off his or her fingers, for the sake of any rings, that
must not, of course, be accounted mere vulgar robbery: it was simply the
frugal nature of the people, unwilling to waste anything.
Upon these simple children of nature, imbued with many of the fearful
beliefs current among the savages of the South Sea islands, the Reverend
John Wesley descended, in 1743. They were then, he says, a people “who
neither feared God nor regarded man.” Yet, so impressionable is the
Celtic nature, so childlike and easily led for good or for evil, that his
preaching within a marvellously short space of time entirely changed the
habits of these folk. In every village and hamlet there sprang up, as by
magic, Wesleyan Methodist meeting-houses; and these and other chapels of
dissent from the Church of England are to this day the most outstanding
features of the Cornish landscape. They are, architecturally speaking,
without exception, hideous eyesores, but morally they are things of
beauty. It is one of the bitterest indictments possible to be framed
against the Church of England in the west that, in all its existence, it
has never commanded the affections, nor exercised the spiritual
influence, won by Wesley in a few short years.
[Picture: Smugglers using Church Tower for Storage]
It was about this period of Wesley’s first visits to Cornwall that the
Carter family of Prussia Cove were born. Their father, Francis Carter,
who was a miner, and had, in addition, a small farm at Pengersick,
traditionally came of a Shropshire family, and died in 1784. He had
eight sons and two daughters, John Carter, the “King of Prussia,” being
the eldest. Among the others, Francis, born 1745, Henry, born 1749, and
Charles, 1757, were also actively engaged in smuggling; but John, both in
respect of being the eldest, and by force of character, was chief of
them. He and his brethren were all, to outward seeming, small farmers
and fisherfolk, tilling the ungrateful land in the neighbourhood of Porth
Leah, but in reality busily employed in bringing over cargoes of spirits
from Roscoff, Cherbourg, and St. Malo. The origin of the nickname, “King
of Prussia,” borne by John Carter, is said to lie in the boyish games of
the “king of the castle” kind, of himself and his brothers, in which he
was always the “King of Prussia”—_i.e._ Frederick the Great, the popular
hero of that age. Overlooking the cove of Porth Leah, at that time still
bearing that name, he built about 1770 a large and substantial stone
house, which stood a prominent feature in the scene, until it was
demolished in 1906. This he appears to have kept partly as an inn,
licensed or unlicensed, which became known by his own nickname, the “King
of Prussia,” and in it he lived until 1807.
“Prussia Cove” is, in fact, two coves, formed by the interposition of a
rocky ledge, at whose extremity is a rock-islet called the “Eneys”—_i.e._
“ynys,” ancient Cornish for island. The western portion of these inlets
is “Bessie’s Cove,” which takes its name from one Bessie Burrow, who kept
an inn on the cliff-top, known as the “Kidleywink.” The easterly inlet
was the site of the “King of Prussia’s” house. Both these rocky channels
had the advantage of being tucked away by nature in recesses of the
coast, and so overhung by the low cliffs that no stranger could in the
least perceive what harboured there until he was actually come to the
cliff’s edge, and peering over them; while no passing vessel out in the
Channel could detect the presence of any craft, which could not be
located from the sea until the cove itself was approached.
Thus snugly seated, the Carter family throve. Of John Carter, although
chief of the clan, we have few details, always excepting the one great
incident of his career; and of that the account is but meagre. It seems
that he had actually been impudent enough to construct a battery, mounted
with some small cannon, beside his house, and had the temerity to unmask
it and open fire upon the _Fairy_ revenue sloop, which one day chased a
smuggling craft into this lair, and had sent in a boat party. The boat
withdrew before this unexpected reception, and, notice having been sent
round to Penzance, a party of mounted soldiers appeared the following
morning and let loose their muskets upon the smugglers, who were still
holding the fort, but soon vacated it upon thus being taken in the rear,
retreating to the “Kidleywink.” What would next have happened had the
soldiers pursued their advantage we can only surmise; but they appear to
have been content with this demonstration, and to have returned whence
they came, while of the revenue sloop we hear no more. Nor does Carter
ever appear to have been called to account for his defiance. But if a
guess may be hazarded where information does not exist, it may be assumed
that Carter’s line of defence would be that his fort was constructed and
armed against French raids, and that he mistook the revenue vessel for a
foreign privateer.
[Picture: Prussia Cove]
John Carter, and indeed all his brothers with him, was highly respected,
as the following story will show. The excise officers of Penzance,
hearing on one occasion that he was away from home, descended upon the
cove with a party, and searched the place. They found a quantity of
spirits lately landed, and, securing all the kegs, carried them off to
Penzance and duly locked them up in the custom-house. The anger of the
“King of Prussia” upon his return was great; not so great, it seems, on
account of the actual loss of the goods as for the breaking of faith with
his customers it involved. The spirits had been ordered by some of the
gentlefolk around, and a good deal of them had been paid for. Should he
be disgraced by failing to keep his engagements as an honest tradesman?
Never! And so he and his set off to Penzance overnight, and, raiding the
custom-house, brought away all his tubs, from among a number of others.
When morning came, and the custom-house was unlocked, the excisemen knew
whose handiwork this had been, because Carter was such an honourable man,
and none other than himself would have been so scrupulous as to take back
only his own. Yet he was also the hero of the next incident. The
revenue officers once paid him a surprise visit, and overhauled his
outhouses, in search of contraband. The search, on this occasion, was
fruitless. But there yet remained one other shed, and this, suspiciously
enough, was locked. He refused to hand over the key, whereupon the door
was burst open, revealing only domestic articles. The broken door
remained open throughout the night, and by morning all the contents of
the shed had vanished. Carter successfully sued for the value of the
property he had “lost,” but he had removed it himself!
We learn something of the Carter family business from the autobiography
written by Henry Carter, an account of his life from 1749 until 1795.
Much else is found in a memoir printed in _The Wesleyan Methodist
Magazine_, 1831. “Captain Harry” lived until 1829, farming in a small
way at the neighbouring hamlet of Rinsey. He had long relinquished
smuggling, having been converted in 1789, and living as a burning and a
shining light in the Wesleyan communion thereafter, preaching with
fervour and unction. He tells us, in his rough, unvarnished
autobiography {173} that he first went smuggling and fishing with his
brothers when seventeen years of age, having already worked in the mines.
At twenty-five years of age he went regularly smuggling in a ten-ton
sloop, with two men to help him; and was so successful that he soon had a
sloop, nearly twice as large, especially built for him. Successful
again, “rather beyond common,” he (or “we,” as he says) bought a cutter
of some thirty tons, and employed a crew of ten men. “I saild in her one
year, and I suppose made more safe voyages than have been ever made,
since or before, with any single person.” All this while, he tells us,
he was under conviction of sin, but went on, nevertheless, for years,
sinning and repenting. “Well, then,” he continues, “in the cource of
these few years, as we card a large trade with other vessels allso, we
gained a large sum of money, and being a speculating family, was not
satisfied with small things.” A new cutter was accordingly built, of
about sixty tons burthen, and Captain Harry took her to sea in December
1777. Putting into St. Malo, to repair a sprung bowsprit, his fine new
cutter, with its sixteen guns, was taken by the French, and himself and
his crew of thirty-six men flung into prison, difficulties having again
sprung up between England and France, and an embargo being laid upon all
English shipping in French ports. In prison he was presently joined by
his brother John; both being shortly afterwards sent on parole to
Josselin. In November 1779 they were liberated, in exchange for two
French gentlemen, prisoners of war. The family, Captain Harry remarks,
they found alive and well on their return home after this two years’
absence, but in a low state, the “business” not having been managed well
in their enforced absence.
It is impossible to resist the strong suspicion, in all this and other
talk in the autobiography, of buying and building newer and larger
vessels, that the Carters were financed by some wealthy and influential
person, or persons, as undoubtedly many smugglers were, the profits of
the smuggling trade, when conducted on a large scale and attended by a
run of luck, being very large and amply recouping the partners for the
incidental losses. But the loss of the fine new cutter, on her first
voyage, at St. Malo, must have been a very serious business.
After another interval of success with the smaller cutter they had
earlier used, with spells ashore, “riding about the country getting
freights, collecting money for the company, etc., etc.,” another
fifty-ton cutter was purchased, mounting nineteen guns. That venture,
too, was highly successful, and “the company accordingly had a new lugger
built, mounting twenty guns.” Horrible to relate, Captain Harry, “being
exposed to more company and sailors of all descriptions, larned to swear
at times.” This is bad hearing.
[Picture: In a French prison]
Obviously in those times there was a good deal of give and take going on
between the Customs and those smugglers who smuggled on a large scale,
and the Carters’ vessels must in some unofficial way have ranked as
privateers. Hence, possibly, the considerable armament they carried.
The Customs, and the Admiralty too, were prepared to wink at smuggling
when services against the foreign foe could be invoked. Thus we find
Captain Harry, in his autobiography, narrating how the Collector of
Customs at Penzance sent him a message to the effect that the _Black
Prince_ privateer, from Dunkirk, was off the coast, near St. Ives, and
desiring him to pursue her. “It was not,” frankly says Captain Harry, “a
very agreeable business”; but, being afraid of offending the Collector,
he obeyed, and went in pursuit, with two vessels. Coming up with the
enemy, after a running fight of three or four hours, the lugger received
a shot that obliged her to bear up, in a sinking condition; and so her
consort stood by her, and the chase was of necessity abandoned.
Presently the lugger sank, fourteen of her crew of thirty-one being
drowned.
In January 1788 he went with a cargo of contraband in a forty-five-ton
lugger to Cawsand Bay, near Plymouth, and there met with the most serious
reverse of his smuggling career, two man-o’-war’s boats boarding the
vessel and seizing it and its contents. He was so knocked about over the
head with cutlasses that he was felled to the deck, and left there for
dead.
“I suppose I might have been there aboute a quarter of an hour, until
they had secured my people below, and after found me lying on the deck.
One of them said, ‘Here is one of the poor fellows dead.’ Another made
answer, ‘Put the man below.’ He answered again, saying, ‘What use is it
to put a dead man below?’ and so past on. Aboute this time the vessel
struck aground, the wind being about east-south-east, very hard, right on
the shore. So their I laid very quiet for near the space of two hours,
hearing their discourse as they walked by me, the night being very dark
on the 30 Jany. 1788. When some of them saw me lying there, said, ‘Here
lays one of the fellows dead,’ one of them answered as before, ‘Put him
below.’ Another said, ‘The man is dead.’ The commanding officer gave
orders for a lantern and candle to be brought, so they took up one of my
legs, as I was lying upon my belly; he let it go, and it fell as dead
down on the deck. He likewayse put his hand up under my clothes, between
my shirt and my skin, and then examined my head, saying, ‘This man is so
warm now as he was two hours back, but his head is all to atoms.’ I have
thought hundreds of times since what a miracle it was I neither sneezed,
coughed, nor drew breath that they perceived in all this time, I suppose
not less than ten or fifteen minutes. The water being ebbing, the vessel
making a great heel towards the shore, so that in the course of a very
little time after, as their two boats were made fast alongside, one of
them broke adrift. Immediately there was orders given to man the other
boat, in order to fetch her; so that when I saw them in the state of
confusion, their gard broken, I thought it was my time to make my escape;
so I crept on my belly on the deck, and got over a large raft just before
the mainmast, close by one of the men’s heels, as he was standing there
handing the trysail. When I got over the lee-side I thought I should be
able to swim on shore in a stroke or two. I took hold of the burtons of
the mast, and, as I was lifting myself over the side, I was taken with
the cramp in one of my thighs. So then I thought I should be drowned,
but still willing to risk it, so that I let myself over the side very
easily by a rope into the water, fearing my enemies would hear me, and
then let go. As I was very near the shore, I thought to swim on shore in
the course of a stroke or two, as I used to swim so well, but soon found
out my mistake. I was sinking almost like a stone, and hauling astarn in
deeper water, when I gave up all hopes of life, and began to swallow some
water. I found a rope under my breast, so that I had not lost all my
senses. I hauled upon it, and soon found one end fast to the side, just
where I went overboard, which gave me a little hope of life. So that
when I got there, could not tell which was best, to call to the
man-of-war’s men to take me in, or to stay there and die, for my life and
strength were allmoste exhausted; but whilst I was thinking of this,
touched bottom with my feet. Hope then sprung up, and I soon found
another rope, leading towards the head of the vessel in shoaler water, so
that I veered upon one and hauled upon the other that brought me under
the bowsprit, and then at times upon the send of the sea, my feete were
allmoste dry. I thought then I would soon be out of their way. Left go
the rope, but as soon as I attempted to run, fell down, and as I fell,
looking round aboute me, saw three men standing close by me. I knew they
were the man-of-war’s men seeing for the boat, so I lyed there quiet for
some little time, and then creeped upon my belly I suppose aboute the
distance of fifty yards; and as the ground was scuddy, some flat rock
mixt with channels of sand, I saw before me a channel of white sand, and
for fear to be seen creeping over it, which would take some time, not
knowing there was anything the matter with me, made the second attempt to
run, and fell in the same manner as before. My brother Charles being
there, looking out for the vessel, desired some Cawsand men to go down to
see if they could pick up any of the men, dead or alive, not expecting to
see me ever any more, allmoste sure I was ither shot or drowned. One of
them saw me fall, ran to my assistance, and, taking hold of me under the
arm, says, ‘Who are you?’ So as I thought him to be an enemy, made no
answer. He said, ‘Fear not, I am a friend; come with me.’ And by that
time, forth was two more come, which took me under both arms, and the
other pushed me in the back, and so dragged me up to the town. I suppose
it might have been about the distance of the fifth part of a mile. My
strength was allmoste exhausted; my breath, nay, my life, was allmoste
gone. They took me into a room where there were seven or eight of
Cawsand men and my brother Charles, and when he saw me, knew me by my
great coat, and cryed with joy, ‘This is my brother!’ So then they
immediately slipt off my wet clothes, and one of them pulled off his
shirt from off him and put on me, sent for a doctor, and put me to bed.
Well, then, I have thought many a time since what a wonder it was. The
bone of my nose cut right in two, nothing but a bit of skin holding it,
and two very large cuts on my head, that two or three pieces of my skull
worked out afterwards.”
The difficulty before Captain Harry’s friends was how to hide him away,
for they were convinced that a reward would be offered for his
apprehension. He was, in the first instance, taken to the house of his
brother Charles, and stayed there six or seven days, until an
advertisement appeared in the newspapers, offering a reward of three
hundred pounds for him, within three months. He was then taken to the
house of a gentleman at Marazion, and there remained close upon three
weeks, removing thence to the mansion called Acton Castle, near Cuddan
Point, then quite newly built by one Mr. John Stackhouse. He was moved
to and fro, between Acton Castle and Marazion, and so great did his
brothers think the need of precaution that the doctor who attended to his
hurts was blindfolded on the way. And so matters progressed until
October, when he was shipped from Mount’s Bay to Leghorn, and thence, in
1789, sailed for New York. It was in New York that the Lord strove
mightily with him, and he was converted and became a member of the
Wesleyan Methodist communion. After some considerable trials, he sailed
for England, and finally reached home again in October 1790, to his
brother Charles’s house at Kenneggey. His reception was enthusiastic,
and he became in great request as a preacher in all that countryside.
But in April 1791 he tells us he was sent for “by a great man of this
neighbourhood” (probably one of those whom we have already suspected of
being sleeping-partners in the Carters’ business), and warned that three
gentlemen had been in his company one day at Helston, when one said,
looking out of window, “There goes a Methodist preacher”; whereupon
another answered, “I wonder how Harry Carter goes about so publicly,
preaching, and the law against him. I wonder he is not apprehended.”
The great man warned him that it might be a wise course to return to
America. “And,” continues Captain Harry, “as the gent was well
acquainted with our family, I dined with him, and he brought me about a
mile in my way home; so I parted with him, fully determining in my own
mind to soon see my dear friends in New York again. So I told my
brothers what the news was, and that I was meaning to take the gent’s
advice. They answered, ‘If you go to America, we never shall see you no
more. We are meaning to car on a little trade in Roscoff, in the brandy
and gin way, and if you go there you’ll be as safe there as in America;
likewayse we shal pay you for your comision, and you car on a little
business for yourself, if you please.’ So,” continues this simple soul,
“with prayer and supplication I made my request known unto God.” And as
there appeared no divine interdict upon smuggling, he accepted the agency
and went to reside at Roscoff, sending over many a consignment of ardent
liquors that were never intended to—and never did—pay tribute to the
Revenue. All went well until, in the troubles that attended the French
Revolution, he was, in company with other English, arrested and flung
into prison in 1793. And in prison he remained during that Reign of
Terror in which English prisoners were declared by the Convention to rank
with the “aristocrats” and the “suspects,” and were therefore in hourly
danger of the guillotine. This immediate terror passed when Robespierre
was executed, July 28th, 1794, but it was not until August 1795 that
Harry Carter was released. He reached home on August 22nd, and appears
ever after to have settled down to tilling a modest farm and leaving
smuggling to brothers John and Charles.