Poor king! a pathetic letter, voicing only too plainly his expectation of disaster and the surprise which the successes of his reckless gallant Cornish subjects had caused him.
TREVALGUE
Beyond St. Columb Porth lies the island known as Trevalgue. On the land side this has six lines of entrenchment and about and upon it, as at Trevose, lie a quant.i.ty of flint chips. These chips are mostly worked.
Here also are a large blow-hole and several interesting caverns. At Glendorgal, further along the cliff, a barrow was opened some years ago and found to contain a remarkable burial urn with two handles and on it a rough chevron pattern. The two barrows on the summit of Trevalgue were opened in 1842. They proved to contain a very ancient interment.
The country people declare them to be the graves of two kings who fought all day long on the headland until at last each killed the other, and was buried where he fell.
"Burn me in my armour, all that is mine, and pile for me a cairn on the sh.o.r.e of the grey sea, the memorial of a luckless man, that men unborn may enquire concerning me."--BEOWULF.
A GOOD CENTRE FOR CRANTOCK, ST. CUBERT, AND TRERICE
Newquay, which is like the definition of a line--length without breadth--is hardly either a nook or a corner. It is marvellously well situated and consists mainly of large hotels. To stand on its beach, looking outward along the hazy cliffs and over the sparkling water, makes you feel as if you could forgive anything but the proximity of man and his immediate works. However Newquay, like Bude and Tintagel, is an excellent centre from which to go out and survey the land.
Legend says--what doesn"t legend say?--that Crantock was once a seaport with seven churches, and "that the place was drowned in a deluge of sand, brought upon the wings of the wind." That wind has certainly blocked up the Gannel and put an end to any trade it may once have had.
This Gannel is a tidal river flowing through a gorge in the hills, and it can be crossed at low tide by a plank bridge, while horse vehicles splash through the ford. It is, however, a dangerous place, for the tide flows swiftly and strongly, and lives have been lost through attempting the crossing a little late. The place is said to be haunted by a disembodied spirit, locally known as the "crake," the hoa.r.s.e shriek of which acts as a warning; and it is certain that no countryman who fancied he had heard it would persist in an attempt to cross--although it is five good miles round by Trevemper!
Crantock was a college with a dean and canons at least as early as the reign of Edward the Confessor, the buildings having stood in what is now a walled garden, easily recognised by the old ship"s figurehead which serves as a lintel to its gateway. The collegiate church which stands on a green slope looking towards the sea is one of the most interesting in Cornwall. There are several remains of Norman work, as for instance the inner doorway of the porch and part of the central tower arch and piers.
In the church are preserved several pieces of carved alabaster, the intention of which is not known, and in the graveyard lies a large stone coffin. The vicar brought himself into notice some time since by objecting to the presence in his church of women who were not wearing hats. Courage is a fine thing, but it is generally understood that the difficulty nowadays is not to discourage people from attending service, but to get them to come.
It is not generally known that when the Black Death more--much more--than decimated Bodmin, the bodies were carried to Crantock and buried in a field on the north coast. Hundreds of years have pa.s.sed, but the surface of this piece of ground is still uneven, and the people believe that if any one disturbs the earth the disease will break out again. So antiquarians--in search of the lost city of Langarrow--beware!
The well of St. Carantocus is in the centre of the village, beneath a rough covering of stone; but it cannot compare either for beauty or renown with another well a mile or two distant. Under the high and rugged cliffs of Holywell Bay is a spring of fresh water, approached by a flight of fifteen worn steps that have been cut in the rock. Only accessible at low tide, it is in a beautiful cave of many strange sea tints, and the water drips from one lovely basin to another. In other days mothers brought their deformed or sickly children to be dipped in the wonder-working well--which, however, is now known to be of no medicinal value.
Between Kelsey Head and Penhale Point lies a wild region of blown sand.
Inland are many deserted mines, the ruins of these "knacked bals" giving the strange countryside a deserted and desolate appearance, so that the tapering spire of Cubert Church, which forms a useful landmark, is welcome. Beyond this is more sand, the wide and dreary waste of Perranzabuloe (St. Piran in the Sands). The early oratory of this saint was buried by the blown sands, and so long lost that only the tradition of it remained. Early in the last century, however, the winds uncovered it again, and when the oratory was cleared from sand, the headless skeleton of a big man was discovered beneath the altar. Now St. Piran was the patron saint of tinners, and it was known that in 1281 the church had possessed a box in which his head was kept and a hea.r.s.e on which his body was carried in procession; indeed, the commissary of the Dean and Chapter of Exeter reported in 1331 that "the parishioners continue as before to carry the relics of St. Piran in an unwarrantable manner to various and even distant places," and as late as 1433 Sir John Arundell bequeathed ten shillings "for enclosing the saint"s head honourably." If these matters are so, the skeleton discovered cannot have been that of St. Piran, for the oratory was said to have been buried in the sand about 900 A.D., and, as we have seen, the relics were being carried about by the parishioners as late as 1281.
The oratory, like that of St. Constantine, is concealed among the sandhills, and by no means easy to find. At the edge of the dunes is a heath upon which, north of St. Piran"s Well, is the Round, a turfed amphitheatre. This ancient open-air theatre has a rampart about 10 ft.
high, rising in seven steps, of which traces remain. The area will hold about two thousand spectators, and in the middle ages miracle plays were doubtless performed here. These plan-an-guare, or playing-places, were probably constructed in very early times for games or contests after the manner of the Romans, and seem to have been in use for the performance of sacred dramas up to the fifteenth century or even later. At Perran a ditch formerly ran across the floor, and it has been suggested that this was for boats, &c., used in scenic effects, but it may have had other, possibly grimmer, uses.
Some three and a half miles south-east of Newquay is Trerice, another home of the Arundells. They were truly a fighting race. John Arundell of Trerice raised a body of troops during the wars of the Roses and fought on the Lancastrian side, and a later John, nicknamed "John for the King"
and "Game to the Toes," fought with his four sons for Charles I., and in his old age held Pendennis Castle after all the other forts in Cornwall had surrendered.
His ancient manor house came--as did most of the Arundell estates, for they wedded cannily--by marriage. It was built in 1572 on the site of an older house, the very solid masonry of which has been found under the soil. Unfortunately the Arundells, enn.o.bled after the Restoration as Lord Arundell of Trerice, died out with the "Wicked Lord" in 1773.
A minstrel"s gallery extends the whole length of the hall, and a window there has no less than 576 panes of gla.s.s. In another room is a table of black oak, the top of which is made of a single plank, which table is said to have been in the house three hundred years. But the glory of Trerice has departed. Old Sir John lies buried at Cuby, and the countrypeople talk of the last bearer of the name with bated breath. The north wing of the house was pulled down after his death and all his personal possessions burnt--but still the place remains untenanted.
ST. AGNES AND THE GIANT
At Perranporth the bewildering similarity of the dunes is broken for the moment by cliff and cavern scenery. The little village lies high, and some arched rocks are to be seen at low tide. Two miles to the west is Cligga Head, a fine bluff rock, but though St. Agnes Beacon, a lofty hill covered with blocks of granite, rises to 620 ft., these cliffs cannot be compared for grandeur or majesty with those of the wilder north. The Beacon, on the summit of which are tumuli, appears in the stories of the Cornish giants, St. Agnes--or, as her proper name is, St.
Ann--proving one too many for a tiresome monster with the absurd name of Bolster. She is said to have persuaded him to go in for a little spring blood-letting and to fill one mine-shaft. But the shaft communicated with the sea, so the accommodating giant bled to death. If this had happened where the Red River runs out by Gwithian, the reason for the legend would have been apparent, for that terrible little tin-stream sullies the blue waters of the bay for miles around; but there is no tin-stream by St. Agnes Beacon. Between Perranporth and the latter the cliff-walk is spoilt by the extensive enclosures of a modern dynamite factory. The house in which the painter Opie was born is on the way to St. Agnes. He was the son of a carpenter, but going to London soon attracted so much attention that he was known as the "Cornish Wonder."
Dying of overwork when forty-six--considering his age rather a curious name to give the disease--he was buried in St. Paul"s.
After these few cliffs, the coast sinks again to meet the encroaching sand. A hundred and twenty years ago the Upton farmhouse was suddenly overwhelmed, the family, to escape suffocation, making their way out by the bedroom windows. A few years later, the sands shifted, showing the buried house, still standing as they had left it. These stretches of sand are now planted with a rush, the _arundo arenaria_, which binds it together, and in the course of time results in the growth of a short sweet turf.
PORTREATH AND THE Ba.s.sETS
When the Spanish and French combined fleets threatened Plymouth in 1779, Francis Ba.s.set of Tehidy placed two batteries of guns at Portreath, in those days known as Ba.s.set"s Cove. It has the reputation of being the most unsafe harbour on the coast; and, as it lies at the bottom of a valley, is reminiscent of Port Isaac; but its wooded hills are less steep and more charming.
A little inland is Tehidy House, the seat of the Ba.s.sets, a famous Cornish family. The house once had parks and plantations of far greater area than at present; they are said indeed to have reached to the foot of Carn Brea. During the Civil Wars many a humdrum family flowered into distinction. It was a chance to prove their mettle. After the battle of Bradock Down the Francis Ba.s.set of that date was knighted, and a little later we find him Sheriff of the county. His marriage was such another as that of his friend, Sir Beville Grenville, and after Ess.e.x" troops had surrendered to the King in 1644, he hurried to send his lady the gracious news. "I write this on the saddle. Every friend will pardon the illness of it, and you chiefly, my perfect joy. The King and army march presently for Plymouth. Jesu give the King, it and all. The King, in the hearing of thousands, as soon as he saw me in the morning, cried to me, "Dear Mr. Sheriff, I leave Cornwall to you safe and sound."" Before the war Sir Francis had represented St. Ives in Parliament. In 1640 he presented the town with a silver wishing cup, on which was inscribed:
"_If any discord "twixt my friends arise Within the borough of beloved Saint Ies It is desired that this my cup of love To every one a peacemaker may prove, Then am I blessed to have given a legacie So like my heart unto posteritie._"
No doubt he saw that his borough was mainly Parliamentarian and that trouble was ahead, and took this sweet and pleasant manner of testifying the unalterable nature of his personal sentiments.
It is sad to think how many of the families that distinguished themselves during those wars are now only a memory.
"_The four wheels of Charles" wain, Grenville, G.o.dolphin, Trevanion, Slanning slain._"
But though Trerice is empty, Lanherne a nunnery, and Stowe but a farmhouse, there are Ba.s.sets still at Tehidy, and long may they continue.
The house contains some interesting pictures by the best of our English artists, and a service of plate made from the silver found in Dolcoath mine.
G.o.dREVY
After Portreath are several fine cliffs ending in Navax Point, the further horn of which looks across the deep curve of St. Ives Bay. On an island just off the sh.o.r.e is the white and black of G.o.drevy Lighthouse, first built in 1857. On the day Charles I. was beheaded a vessel containing his wardrobe and other furnishings was driven by a sudden squall on the G.o.drevy Rocks. Fifty-eight persons were drowned, only a man, a boy, and a dog reaching the little island.
GWITHIAN
The sh.o.r.e here is strewn with the iridescent purple sh.e.l.ls of a small oyster, which lie gleaming like coloured pearls on the sand and weed. It has a charming view, the broad bay with the narrow horn of St. Ives running out on the south-west, and Carbis Bay--white houses and green woods--nestling on the hillside. Among the sands to the left is another half-buried, half-excavated oratory, and the little village of Gwithian.
In 1676 a woman named Cheston Marchant is said to have died here at the age of 164. She is well known by tradition to the present inhabitants, who relate that in her extreme old age--and she was for many years bedridden--her teeth and hair were renewed; and that travellers who came to see her out of curiosity frequently took back with them a lock of her hair.
PILCHARD FISHERY
The little ugly town of Hayle lies some miles away across the towans--as the sandhills are called--and these same towans, with their soft sea breezes, firm turf, and excellent bathing, must presently, one would think, develop into the sort of watering-place agreeable to the mothers of little children. Hidden among its trees in a dip of the land lies Phillack with a badly restored church, and in the graveyard a good two-holed cross; but as this bay is famous for pilchard fishing the main interest lies towards the sea.
The largest catch of pilchards recorded is that of a St. Ives seine. In 1868, at one "shot" this net took five thousand six hundred hogsheads, or over sixteen million fish!
The best account of the Hayle and St. Ives pilchard fishing is by Mr. H.
D. Lowry in "Chambers" Journal," but it is too long to quote and only a resume can be given.
As soon as the fish are expected the "huers" (from hue and cry) take up their position at the white house on Carrick-gladden. It is their business, looking down on the water from above, to watch for the characteristic reddish shadow that indicates the presence of fish. To the men in the boats this shadow is invisible, and when the cry of "Heva" [found] re-echoes from the heights, they shoot the nets as directed from above. Nor are the directions only shouted. The huers hold, one in each hand, a big iron ring covered with a white cloth. This is sharply distinct "against the background of heather and sad-coloured gra.s.s." In olden days furze was used, and the white disks are therefore still spoken of as "the bushes." Very simple is the code of movements.
To send the boats east, the disks are moved from west to east, and vice versa, while an emphatic downward movement gives the exciting order to "shoot the seine." And the size of those seines! It takes thirty-five men, each three or four yards behind his nearest fellow, to carry the whole length of the net.
When the fish are in and the order has been given to close the seine, the huers raise their speaking trumpets anew with a cry of "Bloucers!"
This brings a number of fresh people on the scene, whose business it is to secure what the nets have captured. The warps, great ropes, fastened to the ends of the seine, are brought back and attached to windla.s.ses, and by this means the net is slowly drawn in till, even at high tide, it would still touch bottom and afford no way of escape to the imprisoned fish. Great black pilchard boats are dragged by four horses from their accustomed resting-place and towed out towards the seine. The fish are then dipped out by the basketful and tipped over into the boat, which, when filled, contains over thirty hogsheads--say one hundred thousand fish! When the boats come slowly in, laden with their molten silver, carts are backed down to the water and loaded. "Jousters," who retail the fresh fish through the country, buy their stock, the carts carry the fish to the cellars that they may be salted, and in an hour or two every street in every town for miles round will be resounding with the cry of "Fresh Pilcher, Pilcher, Pilcher!"
While on the subject of fish, it may be mentioned that the biggest edible crab caught off the coast of Cornwall weighed 13 lbs., and the largest conger 120 lbs. Is it possible they caught and weighed the sea-serpent by mistake?
FOOTNOTES:
[2] Appendix A. See pp. 199-200.