THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH,
A Tale of the Land's-End;
BY
WILLIAM BENTINCK FORFAR,
AUTHOR OF "PENTOWAN," "PENGERSICK CASTLE,"
"KYNANCE COVE," &c., &c.
PENZANCE:
W. CORNISH, THE LIBRARY,
1871.
[Illustration: THE AWFUL RIDE. See Page 49.]
PREFACE.
In writing my Cornish Tales I have always endeavoured to pourtray the
Cornish character in all its native wit and humour, for which the
genuine west-country miners are so proverbial. And I have generally
taken for the foundation of my Stories incidents which have really
happened in the localities wherein the actions of my little dramas have
been laid.
The scene of my present story is laid in the neighbourhood of the
Land's-End, and most of the characters were well-known there in days
gone by;--the names only being fictitious.
The fall of the horse over the cliff is still in the remembrance of some
old people in the neighbourhood; and the circumstance is related by the
Guides who shew the beauties of the Land's-End scenery to strangers. The
marks of the horse's hoofs in the grass at the edge of the cliff are
preserved to this day.
The Wizard (or Conjuror as he was called) was a notorious character at
St. Just, some fifty years ago;--and the horrid murder related in these
pages; and the mistaken identity of the guilty parties are also
veritable facts.
Mr. and Mrs. Brown were well-known characters, and are drawn from real
life.
This brief sketch of some of the scenes and characters to be found in
this little volume may perhaps add an interest to it, and induce a large
number of the lovers of Cornish lore to honour it with a perusal.
PLYMOUTH,
March, 1871.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Mr. Freeman 3
II. The Wreck near the Land's-End 8
III. Alrina 12
IV. The Unexpected Meeting 16
V. John Brown and his favorite mare Jessie 21
VI. The Family Party 25
VII. Murder most foul 30
VIII. The Wizard 36
IX. Love and Mystery 40
X. Alrina's troubles increase 42
XI. Frederick Morley obstinately determines to ride
the mare 45
XII. The awful ride 47
XIII. Its consequences 50
XIV. Mrs. Brown tells the Conjuror a bit of her mind 53
XV. The mysterious stranger at the Penzance Ball 56
XVI. Josiah's astonishment at the effect produced by the
display of his Treasure-trove 60
XVII. The borrowed feathers of the peacock fail to conceal
entirely the plumage of the jackdaw 64
XVIII. The birds have taken flight 67
XIX. The mysterious encounter 71
XX. Aristocratic connections 76
XXI. The Love-chase 81
XXII. Alrina's first Love-letter 88
XXIII. The Secret 92
XXIV. Man is born to trouble and disappointment as the
sparks fly upwards 98
XXV. Retrospection and recrimination 106
XXVI. Squire Pendray gets on his stilts and views
Lieut. Fowler from a lofty eminence 113
XXVII. The step in the wrong direction 117
XXVIII. By doing a little wrong, great good is accomplished
in the end 122
XXIX. Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Trenow indulge in a croom
o' chat, while Cap'n Trenow gives some sage
advice in another quarter 125
XXX. The two sisters pierced through the heart 134
XXXI. Out of Scylla and into Charybdis 139
XXXII. Alrina's troubles are increased by an unexpected
discovery 143
XXXIII. Alrina visits a kind friend and makes a proposal 149
XXXIV. Captain Courland's return and his wife's anxiety 154
XXXV. The desperate plunge 159
XXXVI. The broken reed 168
XXXVII. Josiah's lonely midnight watch in the Conjuror's
house 174
XXXVIII. The Search 179
XXXIX. The unexpected meeting and mysterious communication 184
XL. Miss Pendray's singular accident 191
XLI. Mysterious sounds are heard issuing out of the
earth at midnight. The curious cottage on the
heath 195
XLII. The poor dumb girl's sudden resolve, and its
consequences 202
XLIII. The Confession 206
XLIV. Mrs. Brown enjoys another croom o' chat with
Mrs. Trenow, and receives an unexpected
visitor 210
XLV. An awful catastrophe 219
XLVI. The dreaded interview 224
XLVII. Mysteries explained 229
XLVIII. A brilliant Cornish diamond discovered and
placed in a golden casket 232
XLIX. The wedding-bells 239
The Wizard of West Penwith.
CHAPTER I.
MR. FREEMAN.
Very near the most westerly point of Great Britain, and not very far
from the promontory called Cape Cornwall, you may see, as you glide
along the coast in your pleasure-boat of a calm summer's evening, a
pretty little fishing-cove, in shape like a horse-shoe,--the two extreme
points being formed by the projecting rocks on either side of the
entrance,--the interior, or curved part, immediately under the main
land, having a beautiful beach of white sand, on which boats can land
with safety, when piloted by those who know the coast outside; for the
little cove is guarded by hidden rocks, and is as safe in rough weather
against invasion by the uninitiated, as if it had been fortified by a
range of well-appointed batteries. Above this beach the cliffs rise
gradually, and various zigzag footpaths are formed by the constant tread
of the sailors and others who frequent the cove in going to and coming
from the main land.
About a mile inland is a village of some importance, inhabited by
sailors of various kinds, and miners and small farmers who occupy a few
acres of land, and fill up their spare time by working at the
neighbouring mines, either as mine labourers, or as carriers with their
horses and carts.
This part of the coast of Cornwall is almost studded with mines, whose
lodes, for the most part, run out under the sea; and although they are,
consequently, very expensive to work, yet many of them have given large
and continuous dividends to the adventurers.
As many of these rich mines were discovered by accident, it may easily
be imagined that the smallest indication of a metallic lode in the
neighbourhood causes great excitement, and often leads to the
expenditure of large sums of money in forming companies and searching
for the riches, which in very many instances are never found.
The village of St. Just was not, at the period when our story commences,
the important place that it is at present;--it could even then, however,
boast of a tolerably comfortable inn in the square, and an inferior
public-house in the outskirts of the village.
On a dark, tempestuous, winter's night, there sat in the kitchen or
public room of the inn, a goodly company, who had assembled to see the
old year out and the new year in--and more than this; for they would
also on this night witness the termination of one century, and the
commencement of another. A huge fire was burning on the hearth, and two
or three of the older men had ensconced themselves in the
chimney-corner. In those days the fire was made on the flat stones in
the chimney in these old houses, with wood and sticks, or peat; and
there was room round it, for those who did not mind the smoke, to sit
and enjoy a close proximity to the fire, while the others sat round
outside the fireplace, having a small table before them, on which was
placed the foaming eggy-hot, and the hot beer and sugar, made more
potent by the addition of an unlimited quantity of brandy. The wind was
howling dismally in the open chimney, and rattling the doors and
windows, as if angry at being shut out. As the night advanced the storm
seemed to increase; but the comforts of the bright fire and warm room,
and the good cheer before them, made the party feel the more happy and
exhilarated, from the reflection that they were sheltered from the storm
without. The song and jest went round, and many a thrilling story was
told by the elders in the chimney-corner, which made some of the younger
men draw closer to the fire and take an extra glass of the warm liquor
with which the table was supplied; for superstitious fear was indulged
in by all, more or less, in those days, and both old and young, rich and
poor, loved to hear a tale of horror, although it invariably made them
afraid of their own shadows, until daylight appeared again to dispel the
vapours of the night, and the toils of the day left no room for idle
thoughts or fancies.
In the innermost recess of the chimney-corner, almost hidden by the
smoke, sat a sedate looking man, who appeared so absorbed in his own
thoughts, that he did not seem to take much interest in the tales that
amused and interested his companions so much, except that, when a tale
of more than usual horror was told, a slight smile would steal over his
countenance, and he would change his pipe from one side of his mouth to
the other. In years he might have been about fifty, but in appearance he
was ten years older at least; not from any natural defect or want of the
usual stamina and vigour generally displayed by men of his age, but from
an eccentric habit he had contracted of affecting the old man,--for what
reason was best known to himself. His habits and mode of life were very
different from those of Cornishmen generally;--he had come into the
neighbourhood some years before in a mysterious manner, but how he came,
or where he came from, no one seemed to know. He had acquired somehow a
good deal of useful knowledge, and therefore he had the power frequently
of working upon the superstitious fears of his neighbours; and,
although he did not pursue any particular trade or calling, he did not
seem to want for money, for he lived comfortably and paid liberally for
his supplies; and, although he was reserved and unsociable as a general
rule, yet he liked meeting his neighbours in the public room at the inn,
where he could sit in the chimney-corner and smoke his pipe, and listen
to their conversation, which he seldom joined in; and when he had
gathered from them all the information they could impart, he would
occasionally gratify them by telling some thrilling story.
It was generally believed that he had something on his mind which
troubled him at times, but what it was no one could tell. There he sat,
as usual, on this tempestuous night, smoking his pipe and listening to
the conversation of his companions.
At length one of the party, addressing him, said,--
"Come, Maister Freeman, we've all had our turn; now you tell es one of
your stories,--they be clain off, they be."
"Well," said he, taking his pipe out of his mouth, and knocking out the
ashes on his hand, "I'll tell you a tale; but remember, mine are true
stories. The one I am about to relate happened in your own
neighbourhood. Your superstitious fears will, perhaps, make you afraid
to visit the spot again, if I tell it on such a terrible night as this,
after the stories you have already heard."
"No! no!" exclaimed his audience, "out weth et, whatever 'tes, Maister."
"Well, then," he began, "you all know the ruins of the old chapel above
Cape Cornwall, called Chapel Carn Brea, and the little hillocks that
surround it like graves in the churchyard."
A shudder passed round the room at the mention of this well-known spot,
for it was believed by most people that those ruins of the old chapel
were haunted by evil spirits; so the little circle drew their seats
nearer to the chimney, and instinctively looked round, as if they
expected to see some sprite or pixey enter through the keyhole at the
bare mention of so uncanny a spot at this hour of the night.
"Those little mounds or hillocks," continued Mr. Freeman, "are said to
be the graves of the Druid priests and ancient kings of Cornwall, and it
is also said that all their riches were buried with them; but it was
never known whether this was so or not, for no one had had the courage
to disturb the remains of these holy men. I had no such scruples,--so
one moonlight night, soon after I came here to reside, I took my pickaxe
and shovel, went up to the old ruins, and selected the largest mound and
began my work with a hopeful mind, for I believed that I should be
rewarded in the end by a rich booty. The earth on the top was soft and
easy to work, but as I got down it became harder. I worked with a will
for several hours, and got down several feet before the day began to
dawn. It was a lonely spot, in the dead of the night, to be working
in:--I could hear the waves as they dashed against the high cliffs under
Cape Cornwall, and I sometimes fancied I heard voices calling to me out
of the waves. I must confess, my courage nearly failed me, more than
once; but I took several pulls at my brandy-bottle, and thought of the
treasure underneath, and worked on.
"When the day began to dawn I left my work, intending to come the next
night and finish it. I knew that no one would venture there if they
could avoid it, even in the daytime, but I did not wish to be seen
working there;--the sight of an open grave in that spot would, I well
knew, scare people away, even if anyone was bold enough to approach it
during the day. A few hours' work more, I thought, would bring me to the
bottom, and then I should reap my reward. So the next night I took my
tools again and repaired to the spot, when, to my utter astonishment, I
found the grave filled in, and all my labour lost.
"In vain I looked about for some clue to the mystery; I could see no
one; so I set to work again, and soon threw up the loose earth, and came
down to the hard ground. I worked harder than any man ever worked for
his daily bread, and at last my pick touched something hard, which I
fancied at first was a rock. I carefully cleared the earth round it, and
found that it was a large stone slab, and, from the sound, I was
convinced it was hollow beneath. The moon was shining brightly, and
threw its light right into the grave, so that I could see the stone
distinctly, and could discern figures cut on it. Here, then, was the
coffin, no doubt; and it doubtless contained the coveted treasures. I
tried to raise the cover, but it baffled all my skill and strength;--I
found that the pit would have to be made much larger, and even then it
might require the united strength of two or three men to get the cover
up. I was then in the grave, which was deep enough to hide me entirely
from the view of anyone on the surface. While I was thus deliberating
what I should do, I heard a loud shriek just above my head. I got up,
with some difficulty, expecting to see some unfortunate traveller
transfixed superstitiously to the side of the grave, with his hair
standing on end, and his knees knocking together with fear and terror;
but there was no one to be seen. Again I was obliged to abandon my work
for the time, and again I returned the next night and found the grave
filled in as before. They say 'the third time is lucky,' said I to
myself,--so, nothing daunted, I went to work again, for I had now proof
positive that there was a hollow stone coffin underneath, which no doubt
contained the coveted treasure.
"Who the intruder was I neither knew nor cared, except that I did not
like the trouble of going over my work so many times, but now I was
determined to complete it.
"I got down to the stone slab again, and this time I had lengthened the
grave considerably at each end, and I thought I might be able to raise
the lid. I drove the point of my pick under the stone, and was about to
raise it, when I heard the same shriek I had heard on the previous
night,--and I felt at the same time a shower of earth falling all round
me.
"'Self-preservation is the first law of nature,' and so, to escape being
buried alive, I scrambled out of the grave as fast as I could; and on
looking over the heap of earth, thrown up round the sides of the grave,
I saw a figure moving swiftly away,--but whether it was a man or a
woman, or an imp of darkness, I could not tell, for my toe slipped out
of the notch I had made for a footstep, and I fell headlong into the
grave again; but, fearing another shower of earth, I scrambled out the
best way I could, and went home, determined to give up my search after
riches; for I felt sure that, as I had failed the third time, it was
useless to attempt again."
"Zackly like that," said the landlord, who had been busily supplying his
guests with more liquor at intervals, during the recital of the
tale;--"who wor she, I wondar?"
"Who should she be but one of the pixies?" replied a tall, stout,
well-built young man, who had been listening with breathless attention
to the story.
"Hould thy tongue, 'Siah Trenow," said an elderly man, rising from his
seat in the chimney-corner, and taking a long pull at the jug of hot
beer and sugar which the landlord had placed on the table;--"thee'st
nevar knaw nothen. I'll tell 'ee, na, tes like as this here. How could a
pixie handle a showl for to showley in the stuff again, I should like to
knaw; and where could a pixie get a showl from?"
"What wor aw like, so fur as you could see, Maister Freeman?" continued
he, turning round to where that gentleman had been sitting a minute
ago,--when, to his astonishment, he saw that the seat was vacant.
"Why he's gone like the snoff of a candle, soas!"
"That's zackly like he, na," said the landlord; "he'll tell a story till
he do bring 'ee up to a point, and then lev 'ee to gees the rest; esn't
et so, Peggy?"
"I'll tell 'ee, soas," said the young man who had been addressed as
''Siah Trenow,' but whose proper Christian name was 'Josiah,' "he do
knaw bra' things. Why, he ha' got a gashly g'eat room up there that
nobody can go in but he, where he do count the stars, so they do say."
"Iss fie," said the landlord, whose name was Brown; "many people can
tell about the conjuring and things, up there."
"Hush, Brown," exclaimed his wife; "you do knaw that when we lost so
many pigs you wor glad enough for to go to Maister Freeman for to knaw
something about them; and he tould 'ee, so you said, and you b'lieved
every word he tould 'ee,--so don't you bark nor growl. His dafter, Miss
Reeney, tould me last week that she shud think that Old Nick wor up
there sometimes weth her fe-a-thar, they do keep such a caparous,--and
I've got my thofts, too, soas!"
"Come! come! Mrs. Brown," exclaimed 'Siah Trenow, rising up in an
excited manner; "don't you bring Miss Reeney's name in weth her
fe-a-thar's doings, or else I'll----"
"Arreah! thon," replied Mrs. Brown; "that's the way the maggot do jump,
es et? Iss sure! Miss Reeney es a bra' tidy maid; an' f'rall she do
prink herself up so fine sometimes, and b'en to boarding-school, and all
that, and do knaw bra' things, she ha' got nothin' to do weth her
fe-a-thar's conjuring-room upstairs, I do believe in my conscience,
soas; and ef 'Siah ha' got a mind to her, there's wus than she a bra'
deal;--but he do hold his nose brave an' high, soas, don't aw?"
"Miss Reeney esn't the only woman that do live in that house, you knaw,"
said the old man who had spoken first, with a knowing wink.
"No, sure, there's Miss Freeman herself," said Mrs. Brown, pursing up
her lips; "she's a good catch, they do say."
"That's very well," said Mr. Brown, laughing at his wife's wit.
"Brown," said that good lady, "mind your own business;--what have you
got to say about Miss Freeman, I shud like to knaw?"
This remark shut up poor Mr. Brown entirely; and whether this discussion
of the merits and demerits of Miss Freeman and her niece Alrina
(familiarly called Reeney) would have proceeded much further, it is
difficult to say; for just at that moment a man, who had evidently been
out for a considerable time in the storm, burst into the room, and said
there was a vessel wrecked off Pendeen Point.