No one ever comes here without inquiring for "wreckers"--Cornish
wreckers are in demand. Guy put artful questions artfully, but could
get no admissions beyond that--that he had "heard tell" that in ancient
days things were done which no honest, God-fearing man should do. He
was always being asked about wreckers and their doings, and a real,
live sample on show would be a fortune to any man. What was called
"wrecking" now was simply picking up and carrying away little odds and
ends which the sea threw up high and dry upon the beaches. And why not?
Who had a better title to them?
[Illustration: THE VILLAGE SHOP, MOUSEHOLE.]
Guy said he supposed it was all right; and he remembered there was
authority for saying that the king is rex because all wrecks belong to
him. If so, then wreckers are rexers in their own right, and can
do no wrong. Mr. Square-set was not impressed, but he assured us that
the double-dyed villain of Cornish romances innumerable was extinct
now, and Mr. Carnegie's millions could not purchase a specimen for the
British Museum. It was a disappointment not to find a "wrecker"--the
bold, bad man who tied lanterns to cows' tails, and sent up false
lights to lure passing ships to destruction. We wanted to shake hands
with one and stand him drinks, and make notes of his bushy eyebrows and
the colour of his eyes, and then turn him inside out to discover what
his secret thoughts were when hatching diabolical plans. Our faith in
Cornish romances received a great shock just then, and Guy's cherished
ambition to write "The Chronicles of Joseph Penruddock, Wrecker,"
suffered frost-bite. The world will never know more.
Of deeds of derring-do for the saving of life our square-set friend was
full. This was another picture--a picture of black night and tempest,
and noble souls wrestling with death and destruction, with scarce one
faint chance in their favour. He told us of a man who hung over the
precipitous cliff which we had stood on that morning, shuddering as we
looked down in the full light of day, and the sea calm as the surface
of a mirror; he told us of a man who descended that cliff by a rope
when a storm was raging, and the sea "boiling" beneath him, and how he
brought back in his arms a burden, battered, but still living, and
how, in mid-air, the strands of the rope were chafed, so that those
above trembled as they hauled. And as he spoke an inward glow spread
over the man's face and revealed him. Guy seized the man's hands in
both his own and wrung them, saying, "Great Scott! and you are the
man who did this thing!" He told us afterwards that he couldn't help
himself, and wasn't the least ashamed of being a bit "soft" just then.
To think that this hero was the man we picked up scratching himself
against a cromlech and looking for a job!
We couldn't get away from the sea now, and Mr. Square-set told us how
differently sailors in misfortune were treated now than formerly--how
they were fed and clothed and sent from one end of the country to the
other, wherever they wished to go--in fact, by rail. In his young
days it was not so, and a shipwrecked mariner was compelled to tramp
wherever he chose to go, either to his own home or to the next port, in
the hope of getting a berth. But a tramp in fine weather, sleeping in
the fields and outhouses at night, and begging at decent houses by day,
was very much enjoyed by the men, who became heroes when they returned
home. He told us the story of
TWO ANCIENT MARINERS
who hailed from Cornwall, and once found themselves stranded in the
port of London, with little but what they stood upright in. They were
young men and merry-hearted, and stood by each other in fair weather or
foul, as shipmates should. They hailed from the same fishing village,
and wished to be home during the "feast" week, which was near at hand.
Failing to find a coasting vessel bound west, they started to walk,
and part of their arrangement was to take it in turns to call at
gentlemen's houses and ask for assistance. They preferred not to go to
the same house together, but to leave one on the look-out, in case of
"squalls." They got on well enough for some days, sleeping where they
could, and telling yarns of peril and disaster, most likely, in their
opinion, to melt the hearts of hearers. And the story went like this--
"They came to a great gentleman's house, and it was Tommy Hingston's
turn to go in, and Bill Baron's to watch outside. Tommy went up, as
bold as brass, and asked for the gentleman, who was at home, and
received him very kindly; and when he found he had come from London, he
asked him for the latest news.
"'There's fine news, sure 'nuff,' says Tom.
"'Then let me have it, my man.'
"'Haven't 'ee heard it, yer honour? Haven't 'ee heard that London was
as black as night at noon-day?'
"'Most remarkable,' said the gentleman; 'and can you tell me what
caused the darkness?'
"'Sartin sure I can. A monstrous great bird flew over the town, and
shut out the sun with his wings.'
"'That is astonishing. And did you hear anything else?'
"'Ess; they've a-turned Smithfield Market into a kitchen, and all the
people are to be fed upon whitepot.'
"'You really mean it?'
"'I tasted it, yer honour,' replied Tom.
"'And was there anything else worthy of notice?'
"Tom scratched his head. 'There was something else,' he added, in a
sort of hardly-worth-talking-about style. 'The River Thames catched on
fire.'
"'Ah,' said the gentleman, rising and ringing the bell; 'and I have
"catched" a rank imposter, and, being a magistrate, will commit you
forthwith to prison as a rogue and a vagabond.'
"Billy Baron was keeping watch outside, and as his mate did not return,
he grew uneasy. By-and-by he marched up and 'faced the brass knocker,'
and was brought before the gentleman, who was now writing out a
committal order, and Tom he saw standing, bolt upright, by the side of
a man who had charge of him.
"Billy was a soft-hearted man, and burst into tears. Then the gentleman
told Billy, in very straight terms, what he thought of his mate--a
lying imposter, whom he was sending to prison.
"'Never!' said Billy, firmly. 'I'll lay my life on him.'
"'Very well; then, tell me, did you see a great bird fly over London,
so large as to hide the light of the sun with its wings?'
"'No, sir,' replied Billy. 'I didn't see the bird, but I seed four
horses dragging an egg, which people said a great bird had laid.'
"'You _are_ a truthful man,' said the gentleman.
"'I hope so,' said Billy, with one eye on his mate.
"'I hope so, too. Then, tell me, did you eat some whitepot at
Smithfield Market?'
"'No, I didn't, yer honour, but I seed a store full of gurt horn
spoons.'
"'He told me something else, and I'm sure you'll answer truthfully. He
told me he saw the River Thames on fire.'
"'However cud 'ee have said that, Tom?' blurted out Billy,
reproachfully. 'He never seed the river on fire, but what we did see
was waggon and waggon-loads of fish carted away with burnt fins and
tails.'
"'And they would have been taken from the burning river?'
"'I do not doubt it; but, mind, I dedn't zee it,' said Billy, with the
air of a martyr to the truth.
"The gentleman, no longer able to contain himself, sent Tom and Billy
down to the kitchen, and gave them the best 'blaw out' they had on the
journey. And, when they left, he told them, by way of compliment, that
they were 'real Cornish diamonds, and the best pair of liars' he had
ever known.
"And they were hard to beat," said Mr. Square-set.
[Illustration: SMUGGLERS.]