Next day Oliver Trembath and his friend Charles Tregarthen, before the
sun had mounted his own height above the horizon, were on their way to
the Land's End.
The young men were admirably suited to each other. Both were well
educated, and possessed similar tastes, though their temperaments were
dissimilar, and both were strong athletic youths--Oliver's superiority
in this latter respect being at that time counterbalanced by his recent
illness, which reduced him nearly to a level with his less robust
companion.
Their converse was general and desultory until they reached the Land's
End, on the point of which they had resolved to breakfast.
"Now, Oliver, we have purchased an appetite," said Tregarthen, throwing
down a wallet in which he carried some provisions; "let us to work."
"Stay, Charlie, not here," said Oliver; "let us get out on the point,
where we shall have a better view of the cliffs on either side of the
Land's End. I love a wide, unobstructed view."
"As you will, Oliver; I leave you to select our table, but I pray you to
remember that however steady your head may have been in days of yore
when you scaled the Scottish mountains, the rough reception it has met
with in our Cornish mines has given it a shake that renders caution
necessary."
"Pshaw! Charlie, don't talk to me of caution, as if I were a timid old
woman."
"Nay, then, I talk of it because you are _not_ a timid old woman, but a
reckless young man who seems bent on committing suicide. Yonder is a
grassy spot which I think will suit you well."
He pointed to a level patch of sward on the neck of land that connects
the outlying and rugged promontory which forms the extreme Land's End
with the cliffs of the mainland. Here they spread their meal, and from
this point they could see the cliffs and bays of the iron-bound shore
extending on the one hand towards Cape Cornwall, and on the other
towards that most romantic part of the coast known by the somewhat
curious name of Tolpedenpenwith, where rocks and caverns are found in
such fantastic fashion that the spot has become justly celebrated for
picturesque grandeur. At their feet, far below, the great waves (caused
by the swell, for there was no wind) boomed in solemn majesty,
encircling the cliffs with a lace-work of foam, while on the horizon the
Scilly Islands could be seen shimmering faintly. A bright sun shone on
the unruffled sea, and hundreds of ships and boats lay becalmed on its
breast.
"'Tis a splendid scene!" said Oliver, sitting down beside his friend.
"It is indeed, and reminds me of the sea of glass before the great white
throne that we read of in Revelation. It is difficult to imagine or to
believe that the peaceful water before us, lying between this spot and
the Scilly Islands yonder, was once a land full of verdure and life--yet
such tradition tells us was the case."
"You mean, I suppose, the fabled land of Lionesse?" said Oliver.
"Yes; you have heard the story of its destruction, I suppose?"
"Not I," said Oliver, "so if you have a mind to tell it me while I
satisfy the cravings of an unusually sharp appetite I'll consider you a
most obliging fellow. Pass me the knuckle of ham--thanks--and the
bread; now go ahead."
"'Tis a romantic story," said Tregarthen.
"All the better," replied Oliver.
"And terrible," added Tregarthen.
"It won't spoil my appetite," said his friend.
"Well, then, I'll tell it--to the best of my ability." The youth then
began the following legend, pausing ever and anon during the narration
to swallow a piece of bread or a mouthful of cold tea, which constituted
the principal elements of their frugal meal.
"You must know that, once upon a time, long, long ago, in those ancient
days before Norman or Dane had invaded this land, while Britain still
belonged to the British, and King Arthur held his court in Tintagel's
halls, there was a goodly land, named Lethowsow or the Lionesse,
extending a distance of thirty miles between this cape and yonder
shadowy islets which seem to float like cirrus clouds on the horizon.
It is said that this land of Lionesse was rich and fertile, supporting
many hundreds of families, with large flocks and herds. There were no
fewer than forty churches upon it, from which it follows that there must
have been a considerable population of well-doing people there.
"About the time of the events which I am going to narrate, King Arthur's
reign was drawing to a close. Treason had thinned the ranks of the once
united and famous knights of the Round Table. It is true that Sir Kaye,
the seneschal, remained true, and Sir Ector de Mans, and Sir Caradoc,
and Sir Tristram, and Sir Lancelot of the Lake, of whom it was said that
`he was the kindest man that ever struck with sword; and he was the
goodliest person that ever rode among the throng of knights; and he was
the meekest man, and the gentlest, that did ever eat in hall among
ladies; and he was the sternest knight to his mortal foe that ever laid
lance in rest.' But many seats at the Round Table that once were filled
by brave warriors had become empty, and among these, that of Prince
Mordred, who, it was rumoured, meant to declare open war against his
royal cousin and benefactor.
"One night King Arthur sat at the Round Table in Tintagel Castle with
his knights gathered round him, and Queen Guenever with her maidens by
his side. At the beginning of the feast the king's brow was clouded,
for, although there was no lack of merriment or song, there was a want
of the free-hearted courtesy and confidence of former days. Still the
semblance of unabated good-fellowship was kept up, and the evening
passed in gaiety until its close, when the king rose to retire. Taking
in his hand a golden cup to pledge his guests, he was about to drink,
when a shudder passed through his frame, and he cast the goblet away,
exclaiming, `It is not wine, but blood! My father Merlin is among us,
and there is evil in the coming days. Break we up our court, my peers!
It is no time for feasting, but rather for fasting and for prayer.'
"The king glanced with a dark frown at the chair of his kinsman Mordred,
but it was not empty! A strange, indistinct, shadowy form rested on it.
It had no human shape, but a dreadful outline of something unearthly.
Awe-struck and silent, the company at once broke up.
"On the following day, news of Mordred's revolt arrived at Tintagel
Castle, and day after day fresh rumours reached it of foes flocking in
numbers to the rebel standard. The army increased as it advanced, but,
strange to say, King Arthur showed no disposition to sally forth and
meet the traitor. It seemed as if his brave heart had quailed at last,
and his good sword Excalibur had lost its magic virtue. Some thought
that he doubted the fidelity of those who still remained around him.
But, whatever the cause might have been, King Arthur made no
preparation, and indicated no feeling or intention. He lay still in his
castle until the rebels had approached to the very gates. There was
something terrible in this mysterious silence of the king, which had a
tendency to overawe the rebels as they drew near, and remembered that
they were about to match themselves against warriors who had grown old
in fellowship with victory.
"When the main body of the invaders appeared, the great bell of the
fortress at last rang out a stirring peal, and before the barbican the
trumpets sounded to horse. King Arthur then with his knights and
men-at-arms, the best warriors of Britain, arose and sallied forth to
fight in their last battle.
"Next evening a broken band of horsemen alone remained to tell of the
death of their king and the destruction of all their hopes. They
numbered several hundreds, but their hacked armour, jaded steeds, and
gaping wounds told that they were unfit to offer battle to any foe.
They were in full flight, bearing a torn banner, still wet with the
blood of King Arthur; yet they fled unwillingly, as men who were unused
to retreat, and scarce knew how to comport them in the novel
circumstances. Their course was in the direction of the Lionesse, the
tract of country called in the Cornish tongue Lethowsow. On they
dashed, without uttering a word, over the bleak moors before them.
Sometimes they halted to drink at a spring or tighten their girths, and
occasionally a man fell behind from sheer exhaustion. At night they
encamped, after a hard ride of thirty miles. Next morning the flight
was resumed, but the vindictive Mordred still thundered on in pursuit.
Ere long they heard a trumpet sounding in their rear, and King Arthur's
men halted for a few minutes, with the half-formed design of facing the
foe and selling their lives dearly. While they paused in gloomy
irresolution, gazing sternly on the advancing host, whose arms flashed
back the rays of the morning sun, a mist rose up between them and their
foes. It was a strange shadowy mist, without distinct form, yet not
without resemblance to something ghostly. The knights at once
recognised it as the shade of Merlin, the Great Wizard! Slowly the
cloud uprose between the pursuers and pursued, effectually protecting
the latter; nevertheless, although baffled, the former did not give up
the chase.
"At last Mordred reached a lofty slope, from the top of which he
descried his enemies retreating across the land of Lionesse. Mad with
rage, he descended to the plain, where soft sunlight shone through
luxuriant glades and across the green pastures, gladdening the hearts of
man and beast. Nature was all peaceful, and gloriously beautiful, but
Mordred's eyes saw it not, his heart felt not the sweet influences. The
bitterness induced by hatred and an evil conscience reigned within, as
he urged his steed furiously onward.
"Suddenly a terrible change occurred in the atmosphere, which became
oppressively sultry and horrible, while low muttering thunders were
heard, and heavings of the earth felt. At the same time the cloud
gradually condensed in front of Mordred, and, assuming a distinct form,
stood before him in the person of Merlin the Wizard. For a few seconds
they stood face to face, frowning on each other in awful silence. Then
Merlin raised his arm, and immediately the thunders and confused
mutterings increased, until the earth began to undulate and rend as if
the foundations of the world were destroyed. Great fissures appeared,
and the rocks welled up like the waves of the sea. With a cry of agony
the pursuers turned to fly. But it was too late. Already the earth was
rent into fragments; it upheaved convulsively for a few seconds; then
sank beneath the level of the deep, and the ocean rushed wildly over the
land, leaving nothing behind to mark the spot where land had been, save
the peaked and barren rocks you see before you, with the surge beating
continually around them."
"A most extraordinary tale, truly," said Oliver. "Do you believe it has
any foundation?"
"I believe not the supernatural parts of it, of course," replied
Tregarthen; "but there is _something_ in the fact that the land of
Cornwall has unquestionably given up part of its soil to the sea. You
are aware, I suppose, that St. Michael's Mount, the most beautiful and
prominent object in Mounts Bay, has been described as `a hoare rock in a
wood,' about six miles from the sea, although it now stands in the bay;
and this idea of a sunken land is borne out by the unquestionable fact
that if we dig down a few feet into the sand of the shore near Penzance,
we shall come on a black vegetable mould, full of woodland _detritus_,
such as branches, leaves of coppice wood, and nuts, together with
carbonised roots and trunks of forest trees of larger growth; and these
have been found as far out as the lowest tide would permit men to dig!
In addition to this, portions of land have been overwhelmed by the sea
near Penzance, in the memory of men now alive."
"Hum!" said Oliver, stretching out his huge limbs like a giant basking
in the sunshine, "I dare say you are correct in your suppositions, but I
do not profess to be an antiquary, so that I won't dispute the subject
with you. At the same time, I may observe that it does seem to me as if
there were a screw loose somewhere in the historical part of your
narrative, for methinks I have read, heard, or dreamt, that King Arthur
was Mordred's uncle, not his cousin, and that Mordred was slain, and
that the king was the victor, at the fatal field of Camelford, although
the victory was purchased dearly--Arthur having been mortally wounded
and carried back to Tintagel to die there. But, of course, I won't
pretend to doubt the truth of your narrative because of such trifling
discrepancies. As to the encroachment of the sea on the Cornish coast,
and the evidences thereof in Mounts Bay, I raise no objection thereto,
but I cannot help thinking that we want stronger proof of the existence
of the land of Lionesse."
"Why, Oliver," said Tregarthen, laughing, "you began by saying that you
would not dispute the subject with me, and in two minutes you have said
enough to have justified a regular attack on my part, had I been so
disposed. However, we have a long road before us, so I must protest
against a passage of arms just now."
Having finished breakfast, the two friends proceeded along the coast a
few miles to Tolpedenpenwith. Here, in the midst of the finest scenery
on the coast, they spent the greater part of the day, and then proceeded
to Penberth Cove, intending to secure a lodging for the night, order
supper, and, while that was in preparation, pay a visit to the famous
Logan Rock.
Penberth Cove is one of the prettiest little vales in the west of
Cornwall. It is enriched with groups of trees and picturesque cottages,
and possesses a luxuriant growth of shrubs and underwood, that almost
conceals from view the streamlet, which is the chief cause of its
fertility.
There were also, at the time we write of, one or two houses which,
although not public inns, were open for the entertainment of travellers
in a semi-private fashion. Here, therefore, our excursionists
determined to put up for the night, with the widow of a fisherman who
had perished in a storm while engaged in the herring fishery off the
Irish coast. This good woman's chief physical characteristic was
rotundity, and her prominent mental attribute good-humour. She at once
received the gentlemen hospitably, and promised to prepare supper for
them while they went to visit the far-famed Logan or Logging Rock, which
lay in the vicinity.
This rock is one of those freaks of nature which furnish food for
antiquaries, points of interest to strangers, and occupation to guides.
Every one who goes to the Land's End must needs visit the Logan Rock, if
he would "do" the country properly; and if our book were a "Guide to
Cornwall," we should feel bound to describe it with much particularity,
referring to its size, form, weight, and rocking quality, besides
enlarging on the memorable incident in its career, when a wild officer
of the navy displaced it from its pivot by means of seamen and crowbars,
and was thereafter ordered to replace it (a herculean task, which he
accomplished at great cost) on pain of we know not what penalties. But,
as we make no pretensions to the important office of a guide, we pass
this lion by, with the remark that Oliver and his friend visited it and
rocked it, and then went back to Penberth Cove to sup on pilchards,
after which followed a chat, then bed, sound sleep, daybreak and
breakfast, and, finally, the road to Penzance, with bright sunshine,
light hearts, and the music of a hundred larks ringing in the sky.