[Illustration: FOWEY PIER.]
Pursuing the bold shores of Cornwall southward, we pass many crags and
headlands, notably the Duke of Cornwall Harbor, protected by high
projecting cliffs, and just below find the ruins of King Arthur's castle
of Tintagel, located amid some of the most romantic scenery of this
grand line of coast. Here King Arthur is supposed to have been born, and
the fortress, built on a high rock almost surrounded by the sea, was
evidently of great strength. Here on the shore are King Arthur's Cliffs,
and their attractions, with the little church of Tintagel and the
partly-ruined fishing-town of Bossiney, make the place a popular resort
for poets and painters. Not far away in the interior, and standing near
the Tamar River on the top of a steep hill, is Launceston Castle, with
the town built on the adjacent slopes. The ruins, which are of great
antiquity, cover considerable surface, the walls being ten or twelve
feet thick, and the keep rising high upon the top of the hill, nearly
one hundred feet in diameter. This keep is said to have been an ancient
British structure. Old Roman and also leather coins have been found in
it, and it was a renowned stronghold when William the Norman came to
England and gave it to Robert, Earl of Moreton. It now belongs to the
Duchy of Cornwall. It was garrisoned for King Charles in the Civil War,
and was one of his last supports. Westward in Cornwall is Camelford,
over which frown the two Cornish mountains, Rowtor and Brown Willy, a
short distance to the southward, rising respectively thirteen hundred
and thirteen hundred and eighty feet. The Cornish range forms the
backbone of the narrow peninsula which now juts out to the
south-westward, marking the extreme point of England, and down which we
will gradually journey. Crossing the mountains, we come to Liskeard, in
a beautiful country filled with ancient Roman remains. Going down to the
southern coast, we reach Fowey with its picturesque harbor and pier,
with the Sharpitor and Kilmarth Mountains beyond, twelve hundred and
twelve hundred and seventy-seven feet high respectively. Fowey harbor,
sheltered by high hills richly clothed with green, is the "haven under
the hill" of which the balladist sings, and near its quaint old pier,
almost covered with houses, is Fowey Church, recently effectually
restored.