Cornish Characters and Strange Events

Also:—

As late as last century we find these:—

And this in 1864:—

In the Western Counties bell-ringing was a favourite and delightful pastime. Parties of ringers went about from parish to parish and rang on the church bells, very generally for a prize—"a hat laced with gold." At Launcells, where the bells are of superior sweetness, the ringers who rang for the accession of George III rang for that of George IV, there not having been a gap caused by death among them in sixty years. No songs are so popular and well remembered at bell-ringers' feasts as those that record the achievements of some who went before them in the same office. I give one that has never before been printed, that can be traced back to 1810, but is certainly older. It relates to the ringers of Egloshayle.

Humphry Craddock died in 1839; John Ellery in 1845, aged 85 years; John Pollard in 1825, aged 71; Thomas Cleave in 1821, aged 78; John Goodfellow in 1846, aged 80.

But for bell-ringers there must be bells; and who cast those that have been in past years and are still pealed so merrily? A great many were cast by the Penningtons of Lezant, and latterly at Stoke Climsland. The Penningtons were an ancient family in Bodmin, resident there in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. Perhaps because not being landed gentry, perhaps because they could not establish the right, they did not record their arms or give their pedigree in the Heralds' Visitations. But the coat they bore or assumed was a goodly one and simple, and therefore ancient—or, in fesse five lozenges azure. Robert Pennington, of Bodmin, had two sons—John, baptized in 1595, and Bernard two years later. John married at Bodmin, and had seven sons baptized there, one of whom was probably the progenitor of the Penningtons of Lezant and Stoke Climsland. The pedigree of the Exeter bell-founders of the family has not been made out; but that they belonged to the stock that sprang up at Bodmin cannot be doubted.

Bernard Pennington, baptized in 1605, was Mayor of Bodmin in 1666, and was a bell-founder. He died in 1674. His son Christopher Pennington, baptized 1631, was also a bell-founder. He died in 1696. Christopher's son of the same name was Mayor of Bodmin in 1726, 1727, and 1733. He died in 1749. The Penningtons seem to have abandoned the bell-casting business at the beginning of the nineteenth century; but, as Sir William Maclean says, "between 1702 and 1818 these popular founders cast nearly five hundred bells in the county of Devon, and, it is believed, as many in Cornwall."[14]

There are sixty-six in Devon cast by John Pennington, of Exeter. The earliest that is dated is at Payhembury, 1635, and the latest 1690 at Kentisbeare. In 1669 T. P. and I. P. appear together on a bell at Merton, as if they were partners; and ninety-five bear the trade-mark of Thomas and John Pennington—large Roman initials with a bell in outline between. The earliest is found at Eggesford, 1618. Sometimes they impressed the coin then current. At Ottery S. Mary, 1671, and at S. Martin's, Exeter, 1675, they used a satirical medal representing a pope and a king under one face, another representing a cardinal and a bishop.

Besides two generations of Penningtons in Exeter, there was, as already stated, Christopher Pennington, who cast a bell at Stowford dated 1710, and one at Philleigh, in Roseland, with C. P. and the skeleton of a bell between, as did the other Pennington. But his earliest known is at Fremington, 1702. He was succeeded by FitzAnthony Pennington, of Lezant, who in 1768, whilst crossing the Tamar in the Antony ferry with a bell he had cast to be set up at Landulph, was drowned. He is buried in the tower of Landulph, and on a mural tablet, beside his age, which was thirty-eight, and the date of his death, April 30th, 1768, are these lines:—

After his death we have the initials of the three brothers, John, Christopher, and William. From their head-quarters, first at Lezant and then at Stoke Climsland, they itinerated through Cornwall and Devon, casting bells wherever they could find deep clay, and sufficient bell-metal was provided by the parish that desired to have a bell in its tower, and generally the bell was cast near the church for which it was intended.[15]

There are as many as 480 bells by this Cornish family from 1710-1818; their latest are at Bridgerule and Bovey Tracey, at this last date.

William Pennington, son of the second Christopher, entered Holy Orders and became vicar of Davidstowe. His progenitors had furnished the voices calling to church from the village towers, and now this member sounded within the church also calling to prayer and praise. His son, William Pennington, purchased the site of the Priory, Bodmin, in 1788, having rebuilt the house some twenty years previously under a lease. He was mayor of Bodmin 1764, 1774, 1787, and died without issue in 1789, bequeathing his possessions to his niece Nancy Hosken, daughter of his sister Susanna, who had married Anthony Hosken, vicar of Bodmin and rector of Lesneuth. Nancy married Walter Raleigh Gilbert, one of the gentlemen of the bedchamber, and descended from the ancient Devonshire family of Compton Castle. As Mr. Gilbert died without issue, the Priory passed to his brother, and, consequently, wholly away from the Penningtons.

DOCTOR GLYNN-CLOBERY

This amiable and good man was born at Helland, 5th August, 1719, and was the son of Robert Glynn, by Lucy, fourth daughter of John Clobery, of Bradstone, in Devon. A singular fatality attended this ancient family, that possessed a very interesting Elizabethan mansion. John Clobery had eight daughters and only one son and heir, and that son died without issue, and only three of the daughters married. Lucy had but the one son, Robert Glynn, and the fifth daughter, Mary, also only a son; and as these sons died unmarried, the estate passed to remote connections.

Robert Glynn assumed his mother's name and succeeded to the estates on the death of his uncle, William Clobery. Robert Glynn was an M.D. and a Fellow of King's College, Cambridge, where he resided. He was a simple-minded man, and was completely taken in by the Chatterton forgeries, and for some time strenuously defended them. On which account Horace Walpole speaks of him with great contempt as "an old doting physician and Chattertonian at Cambridge." "I neither answer Dr. Glynn, nor a poissarde. Twenty years ago I might have laughed at both, but they are too small fry, and I am too old to take notice of them. Besides, when leviathans and crocodiles and alligators tempest and infest the ocean, I shall not go a-privateering in a cockboat against a smuggling pinnace." That was in August, 1792.

Dr. Glynn was very fond of seeing young gownsmen at his rooms, and had tea for them and conversed with them; but he never drank tea himself. C. Carlyon says: "His custom was to walk about the room and talk most agreeably upon such topics as he thought likely to interest his company, which did not often consist of more than two or three persons. As soon as the tea-table was set in order, and the boiling water ready for making the infusion, the fragrant herb was taken, not from an ordinary tea-caddy, but from a packet, consisting of several envelopes curiously put together, in the centre of which was the tea. Of this he used, at first, as much as would make a good cup for each of the party; and, to meet fresh demands, I observed that he invariably put an additional teaspoonful in the teapot; the excellence of the beverage, thus prepared, ensuring him custom. He had likewise a superior knack of supplying each cup with sugar from a considerable distance, by a jerk of the hand which discharged it from the sugar-tongs into the cup with unerring certainty, as he continued his walk around the table, scarcely seeming to stop whilst he performed these and other requisite evolutions of the entertainment."

Dr. Glynn or Clobery would only eat when his appetite summoned him imperiously for a meal. A faithful old servant was in constant attendance upon him, and, whenever his master called out for food, he was prepared to set before him some plain dish and a pewter of porter.

Nothing would induce the doctor to believe that gout was hereditary. He once took occasion to mark this with peculiar emphasis, when a writer signing himself W. A. A. consulted him in his first attack, then in his nineteenth year. He observed, "My young friend, you call this gout! Pooh, pooh! You have not yet earned the costly privilege; you must drink your double hogshead first."

"But my father, sir; it is in my blood by right of inheritance."

His reply was, "You talk nonsense. You may as well tell me you have a broken leg in your veins by inheritance."

One Sunday morning he met an undergraduate of his acquaintance on his way to S. Mary's Church, and said to him—

"Well, my master, and whither are you going?"

"I am going to S. Mary's," replied the young gownsman.

"And who is the preacher to-day?"

"I don't know."

"Not know who is the preacher? Then, upon my word, you have no small merit in taking pot-luck at S. Mary's."

During a long illness the good old doctor attended a poor man, of whose family party a pert, talkative magpie made one; and as the patient observed that Dr. Glynn always, when paying a visit, had some joke with the bird, he thought that perhaps the doctor might like to possess it. Accordingly, when the poor man was well again, with overflowing gratitude, but with no money to pay a bill, he thought he could do no better than make his kind friend a present of the magpie; and sure enough the prisoner in its cage was conveyed to his rooms in King's College. There the bearer met with a very kind reception, but was desired to carry back the bird with him. "I cannot," said the doctor, "take so good care of it as can you; but I shall consider it mine, and I entrust it to you to keep for me; and, as long as it lives, I will pay you half-a-crown weekly for its maintenance."

The anecdote was turned into verse by Mr. Plumtre, and is given in Gunning's Reminiscences of Cambridge. When Dr. Glynn assumed the name of Clobery he assumed also the Clobery arms—three bats; and no animal could better symbolize the man, with his curious blindness to what was obvious to most—that the Chatterton papers were forgeries. He went down to Bristol on purpose to examine the chest with its MS. contents. The fact that in one of them the invention of heraldry was ascribed to Hengest, and that of painted glass to an unknown monk in the reign of King Edmund, did not disturb his faith. He entered into vehement controversy with George Steevens, in his endeavour to establish their genuineness. He waxed hot over it, and it took a good deal to put Glynn-Clobery out of his usual placidity and coolness.

He set up to be a poet. His Seatonian prize poem on the "Day of Judgment" was thought much of at the time. Previously Christopher Smart had won the prize over and over again. Glynn wrested the laurels from him. This is not saying much; his poem was not much better, and not at all worse, than the general run of these prize poems. But it had the advantage of pleasing, and has been repeatedly republished, and has even obtained for the old doctor a niche in the temple of Poesy—a notice in a Biographical Dictionary of Poets.

He died at Cambridge on February 8th, 1800, and at his own desire was buried at midnight in King's College Chapel.

THREE MEN OF MOUSEHOLE

In the year 1849, Captain Allen Gardiner, an intrepid sailor and a religious enthusiast, formed the plan of converting the natives of Terra del Fuego and of Patagonia. He knew nothing of their language or habits, nothing indeed of their land. He was, however, possessed with the idea that he was called to be an apostle of those bleak and fog-wrapped regions. Of all inhabited spots on the earth, the Terra del Fuego is the most miserable. Cold, whirlwinds and tempests of snow and hail, frozen fogs with but rare glimpses of sunshine, form its climate; and the natives are utterly barbarous, apparently the refugees from the Continent, driven out of the somewhat less desolate peninsula of Patagonia by the giants that now possess it, and in their misery sinking to the lowest depths to which man can descend.

During a year or more Captain Gardiner's efforts to rouse interest in his scheme, sufficient interest to make the money flow, had met with no success. He applied to the Moravian Brethren to take up the mission; they declined. Then he placed the matter before the Scottish Establishment, but the canny Scotchmen would nae think ov it. At last a lady at Cheltenham furnished him with £700, and this, with £300 from his own private purse, formed all the resources on which he acted. As he could not afford to charter a schooner, he had four open boats built for him at Liverpool. Two of these were launches of considerable size, to which he gave the names of the Speedwell and the Pioneer; the other two were small dinghies, to be used as tenders or luggage boats.

The lack of common prudence, of common sense, exhibited by Captain Gardiner is astounding. Here was he, with a party whom he had beguiled to attend him, dropped in this barren country wrapped in snow and fog, without an interpreter, and consequently without the means of communication with the inhabitants should they come across them. From the moment that the sails of the Ocean Queen disappeared behind the rocks on her way to double Cape Horn, the eye of no civilized man ever saw these brave sailors and missionaries alive. All that is known of them has been gathered from the papers subsequently found.

Seven men in all, with four open boats, were left on the most inhospitable coast that could be found, where there is little food to be got, where vegetation is scarce. Their resolution was heroic, but the whole enterprise was madness.

They soon found that the Pioneer leaked. In several short voyages from island to island and from shore to shore they encountered numberless mishaps. The natives were by no means friendly, and as they approached their villages, brandished their weapons and drove them away. At other times the Fuegians simulated friendship, so as to get at the stores and plunder them. During a storm both of the dinghies were lost with all their contents, on which they relied for support for six months. Next they found that they had no gunpowder; it had been left inadvertently in the Ocean Queen, so that they had no means of shooting birds or other animals. Then their anchors and spare timber were carried away. As far as we can judge, they seem to have been curiously helpless persons. With clubs they might have killed the sea-elephants, whose flesh would have sustained them and their skins clothed them.

Thus wore away the month of January, 1851, and not the first step had been taken towards acquiring the confidence of the natives. All the time had been spent in a struggle for the maintenance of their own lives. On February 1st the Pioneer was shattered in a storm, and now they had only the Speedwell to voyage in, a vessel whose name mocked their misery.

They all saw now, even the enthusiast Gardiner, that they had embarked on an impossible task, and without further thought of spreading a knowledge of Christianity among the dirty, treacherous, flat-nosed and stupid natives, their only consideration was how they might get away.

Arrangements had been made before starting for sending out to them fresh supplies, but by various unfortunate mischances this had not been done. They turned their eyes vainly eastward; not a sail was seen to raise their hopes.

Some of the men became ill with scurvy, and the boats were used as hospitals, the men that were sound retiring to caverns. A few fish and fowl were caught, and eggs were procured. So March and April dragged along; and then the Antarctic winter began, adding snow and ice to their other troubles. What herbs to gather, how the natives protected themselves against scurvy, does not seem to have occurred to these unfortunates. They sat and shivered and lamented their fate and lost all hope. From the middle of May they were all put on short allowance, owing to the rapid disappearance of the supply of food they had brought ashore. At the end of June, Badcock, one of the Mousehole men, died, worn out with scurvy. There is an entry in Gardiner's diary, about the end of June, enumerating the provisions still left, and among them were "six mice," concerning which he wrote: "The mention of this last item in our list of provisions may startle some of our friends should it ever reach their ears; but circumstanced as we are, we partake of them with a relish; they are very tender, and taste like rabbit." A solitary penguin, a dead fox, a half-devoured fish thrown up on the shore—all were welcomed by the half-starved men. When August came, the strength of the entire party was well-nigh at an end. A few garden-seeds were made into a soup, and mussel-broth was served out to the invalids. Captain Gardiner himself lived on mussels for a fortnight, and then, as this disagreed with him, was compelled to give up the diet. He would have lain down and died of starvation had he not found a vegetable that he could eat, and on this he rallied for a while.

On the 23rd, Erwin, a boatman, died, exhausted by hunger and disease. On the 26th, Bryant, the second Mousehole man, expired. Pearce, the remaining boatman, went nearly mad at the loss of his companions and the hopelessness of the outlook. Mr. Maidment, the missionary, had just strength sufficient to dig a grave in which to bury the two poor fellows. He then made a pair of crutches with two sticks, on which Captain Gardiner might lean when walking. He lived in the cavern, and tried to hobble down to those who were in the Speedwell, but his strength was not equal to the task, and he had to retire to his cave.

Maidment was the next to succumb, on September 2nd. Pearce, and Williams the surgeon, were in the Speedwell, and it was as much as they could do to obtain a few shell-fish for themselves; but they soon lay down and died. When Gardiner also yielded up the ghost is not known, but he had strength to make an entry in his diary on the 6th; there is none on the 7th.

On the 21st January, 1852, H.M.S. Dido arrived at Terra del Fuego and found the remains of this unhappy party of religious enthusiasts. The first thing seen was a direction scrawled on a rock; then a boat lying on the beach of a small river; then the unburied bodies of Captain Gardiner and the missionary Maidment; then a packet of papers and books; then the scattered remains of another boat, with part of her gear and various articles of clothing; then two more corpses; and lastly the graves of the rest of the party.

"Their remains," wrote Captain Morshead, of the Dido, "were collected together and buried close to the spot, and the funeral service read by Lieutenant Underwood. A short inscription was placed on the rock near his own text; the colours of the boats and ships were struck half-mast, and three volleys of musketry were the only tribute of respect I could pay to the lofty-minded man and his devoted companions."

DOLLY PENTREATH

Much has been written about Dolly Pentreath, but little is known of her uneventful life. That little may be summed up in few words.

Her maiden name was Jeffery, and when she was a child her parents and all about her spoke the Cornish language. Drew, in his History of Cornwall, quoting Daines Barrington, says: "She does indeed talk Cornish as readily as others do English, being bred up from a child to know no other language; nor could she (if we may believe her) talk a word of English before she was past twenty years of age."

In the year 1768 the Hon. Daines Barrington, brother of Captain, afterwards Admiral, Barrington, went into Cornwall to ascertain whether the Cornish language had entirely ceased to be spoken, or not, and in a letter written to John Lloyd, f.s.a., a few years after, viz. on March 31, 1773, he gives the following as the result of his journey:—

"I set out from Penzance, with the landlord of the principal inn for my guide, towards Sennen, or the most western point; and when I approached the village I said that there must probably be some remains of the language in those parts if anywhere, as the village was in the road to no place whatever, and the only ale-house announced itself to be the last in England.

"My guide, however, told me that I should be disappointed, but that if I would ride about ten miles about on my return to Penzance he would conduct me to a village called Mousehole, on the western side of Mount's Bay, where there was an old woman, called Dolly Pentreath, who could speak Cornish fluently. While we were travelling together towards Mousehole I inquired how he knew that this woman spoke Cornish; when he informed me that he frequently went from Penzance to Mousehole to buy fish, which were sold by her; and that when he did not offer her a price that was satisfactory, she grumbled to some other old women in an unknown tongue, which he concluded, therefore, to be Cornish.

"I continued nine or ten days in Cornwall after this, but found that my friends whom I had left to the eastward continued as incredulous almost as they were before about these last remains of the Cornish language, because, among other reasons, Dr. Borlase had supposed, in his Natural History of the County, that it had entirely ceased to be spoken. It was also urged that, as he lived within four or five miles of the old woman at Mousehole, he consequently must have heard of so singular a thing as her continuing to use the vernacular tongue.

"I had scarcely said or thought anything more about this matter till last summer (1772), having mentioned it to some Cornish people, I found that they could not credit that any person had existed within these few years who could speak their native language; and therefore, though I imagined there was but a small chance of Dolly Pentreath continuing to live, yet I wrote to the President, then in Devonshire, to desire that he would make some inquiry with regard to her; and he was so obliging as to procure me information from a gentleman whose house was within three miles of Mousehole, a considerable part of whose letter I subjoin.

"'Dolly Pentreath is short of stature, and bends very much with old age, being in her eighty-seventh year, so lusty, however, as to walk hither to Castle Horneck, about three miles, in bad weather, in the morning and back again. She is somewhat deaf, but her intellect seemingly not impaired; has a memory so good, that she remembers perfectly well, that about four or five years ago at Mousehole, where she lives, she was sent for by a gentleman, who, being a stranger, had a curiosity to hear the Cornish language, which she was famed for retaining and speaking fluently, and that the innkeeper where the gentleman came from attended him.

("This gentleman," says Daines Barrington, "was myself; however, I did not presume to send for her, but waited upon her.")

"'She does, indeed, talk Cornish as readily as others do English, being bred up from a child to know no other language; nor could she (if we may believe her) talk a word of English before she was past twenty years of age, as, her father being a fisherman, she was sent with fish to Penzance at twelve years old, and sold them in the Cornish language, which the inhabitants in general, even the gentry, did then well understand. She is positive, however, that there is neither in Mousehole, nor in any other part of the county, any other person who knows anything of it, or, at least, can converse in it. She is poor, and maintained partly by the parish, and partly by fortune-telling and gabbling Cornish.'

"I have thus," continued Mr. Barrington, "thought it right to lay before the Society (the Society of Antiquaries) this account of the last sparks of the Cornish tongue, and cannot but think that a linguist who understands Welsh might still pick up a more complete vocabulary of the Cornish than we are yet possessed of, especially as the two neighbours of this old woman (Dolly Pentreath), whom I had occasion to mention, are not now above seventy-seven or seventy-eight years of age, and were healthy when I saw them; so that the whole does not depend on the life of this Cornish sybil, as she is willing to insinuate."

It is matter of profound regret that no Welshman did visit Dolly, who lived for four years after Mr. Barrington's letter, which was written in 1773, for she died December 26th, 1777.

Drew says: "She was buried in the churchyard of the parish of Paul, in which parish, Mousehole, the place of her residence, is situated. Her epitaph is both in Cornish and English."

This epitaph, written by Mr. Tomson, of Truro, was never inscribed on her tombstone, for no tombstone was set up to her memory at the time of her death. The stone now erected, and standing in the churchyard wall and not near her grave, was set up by Prince Louis Lucien Bonaparte in 1860, and contains two errors. It runs: "Here lieth interred Dorothy Pentreath, who died in 1778." In the first place she does not lie where is the stone, and in the second place she died 1777, on December 26th, and was buried on the following day.

In 1776 Mr. Barrington presented a letter to the Royal Society of Antiquaries written in Cornish and in English, by William Bodener, a fisherman of Mousehole. This man asserted that at that date there were still four or five persons in Mousehole who could talk Cornish.

In 1777, the year of Dolly's death, Mr. Barrington found another Cornishman named John Nancarrow, of Marazion, aged forty-five years, able to speak Cornish. John Nancarrow said that "in his youth he had learned the language from the country people, and could thus hold a conversation in it; and that another, a native of Truro, was at that time also acquainted with the Cornish language, and like himself was able to converse in it."

This last is supposed to be the Mr. Tomson who wrote the epitaph for Dolly Pentreath which was never set up.

In Hitchens' and Drew's History of Cornwall, it is said: "The Cornish language was current in a part of the South Hams in the time of Edward I (1272-1307). Long after this it was common on the banks of the Tamar, and in Cornwall it was universally spoken.

"But it was not till towards the conclusion of the reign of Henry VIII (1509-47) that the English language had found its way into any of the Cornish churches. Before this time the Cornish language was the established vehicle of communication.

"Dr. Moreman, a native of Southill, but vicar of Menheniot, was the first who taught the inhabitants of this parish the Lord's Prayer, the Creed, and the Ten Commandments in the English tongue; and this was not done till just about the time that Henry VIII closed his reign. From this fact one inference is obvious, which is, that if the inhabitants of Menheniot knew nothing more of the English than what was thus learnt from the vicar of the parish, the Cornish must have prevailed among them at that time ... and as the English language in its progress travelled from east to west, we may reasonably conclude that about this time it had not penetrated far into the county, as Menheniot lies towards its eastern quarter.

"From the time the liturgy was established in the Cornish churches in the English language, the Cornish tongue rapidly declined.

"Hence Mr. Carew, who published his Survey of Cornwall in 1602, notices the almost total extirpation of the language in his days. He says, 'The principal love and knowledge of this language liveth in Dr. Kennall the civilian, and with him lyeth buried; for the English speech doth still encroach upon it and hath driven the same into the uttermost skirts of the shire. Most of the inhabitants can speak no word of Cornish; but few are ignorant of the English; and yet some so affect their airs, as to a stranger they will not speak it; for if meeting them by chance you inquire the way, or any such matter, your answer shall be, "Meea naurdua cowzasourzneck?" (I can speak no Saxonage).'

"Carew's Survey was soon followed by that of Norden, by whom we are informed that the Cornish language was chiefly confined to the western hundreds of the county, particularly to Penwith and Kirrier, and yet (which is to be marveyled) though the husband and wife, parents and children, masters and servants, etc., naturally communicate in their native language, yet there is none of them in a manner but is able to converse with a stranger in the English tongue, unless it be some obscure people who seldom confer with the better sort. But it seemeth, however, that in a few years the Cornish will be by little and little abandoned."

The Cornish was, however, so well spoken in the parish of Feock by the old inhabitants till about the year 1640, "that Mr. William Jackman, the then vicar, and chaplain also of Pendennis Castle, at the siege thereof by the Parliament army, was forced for divers years to administer the sacrament to the communicants in the Cornish tongue, because the aged people did not well understand the English, as he himself often told me," says Hals.

So late as 1650 the Cornish language was currently spoken in the parishes of Paul and S. Just; the fisherwomen and market-women in the former, and the tinner in the latter, for the most part conversing in their old vernacular tongue; and Mr. Scawen says that in 1678 the Rev. F. Robinson, rector of Landewednack, "preached a sermon to his parishioners in the Cornish language only."

Had the Bible been translated, had even the English Prayer-book been rendered into Cornish, the language would have lived on. It is due to a large extent to this—the translation into Welsh—that in Wales their ancient language has maintained itself.

The editors of the Bibliotheca Cornubiensis state that Dorothy Jeffery, daughter of Nicolas Pentreath, was baptized at Paul 17th May, 1714; and they conclude that she was the Dolly Pentreath who died in 1777, and that her age accordingly was sixty-three and not one hundred and two.

But this is a mistake. Dolly was a Jeffery by birth and married a Pentreath.

A story is told of Dolly in Mr. J. Henry Harris's Cornish Saints and Sinners, "as current in Mousehole, but whether true or well conceived it is not possible for me to say."

It is to this effect: that on one occasion a deserter from a man-of-war fled to her house for refuge, and as there was a cavity in her chimney large enough to contain a man, she thrust him into it, and threw a bundle of dry furze on the fire, and filled the crock with water. Into the middle of the kitchen she drew a "keeve," which she used for washing, and when the naval officer and his men in pursuit burst into her house, Dolly was sitting on a stool, her legs bare and her feet ready to be immersed in the keeve. She screamed out on their entry that she was about to wash her feet, and only waiting for the water to get hot enough. The officer persisted in searching, and she gave tongue in strong and forcible Cornish. She rushed to the door and screamed to the good people of Mousehole, that the lieutenant and his men had invaded her house without leave, and were impudent and audacious enough to ransack every other cottage in the place. The officer and his men withdrew without having seen and secured their man; and that night a fishing lugger stole out of Mousehole with the deserter on board and made for Guernsey, which in those days was a sort of dumping-ground for all kinds of rascals who were "wanted" at home.

ROBERT JEFFERY OF POLPERRO

Mrs. Bray, in her novel Trelawny of Trelawne, written in 1834, thus describes Polperro as it was at that time. It has lost much but not all of its picturesqueness. Many of the old fishermen's cottages have been pulled down, and their places taken by ugly modern houses.

"Looe," says she, "beautiful as it is, is not to be compared to Polperro, two miles distant from Trelawne. The descent to it is so steep, that I, who was not accustomed to the path, could only get down by clinging to Mr. Bray's arm for support; it was slippery, and so rocky that in some places there were steps cut in the road for the convenience of the passenger. The view of the little port, the old town in the bottom (if town it can be called), the cliffs, and the spiked rocks that start up in the wildest and most abrupt manner, breaking the direct sweep of the waves towards the harbour, altogether produced such a combination of magnificent coast scenery as may truly be called sublime."

Long before this, in the reign of Henry VIII, Leland, who visited it, wrote: "By est, the haven of Fowey upon a iiii miles of—ys a smawle creke cawled Paul Pier, and a symple and poore village upon the est side of the same, of fisharmen, and the boetes ther fishing by [be] saved by a Peere or key."

Robert Jeffery was the son of John Jeffery, bargeman at Fowey, afterwards a publican at Polperro. John Jeffery died in 1802, and his widow remarried Benjamin Coad, blacksmith.

Robert was baptized at Fowey, 22nd January, 1790. He was impressed for the Royal Navy, and was placed on board H.M. brig Recruit, under Captain the Hon. Warwick Lake, in 1807.

Warwick Lake was the third son of Gerard, first Viscount Lake, so created in 1807, and he eventually succeeded as third Viscount in 1836. His career in the Navy had not been particularly creditable. In November, 1803, he had been lieutenant on board the frigate Blanche, Captain Zachariah Mudge, lying at anchor off the entrance of Mancenille Bay, Isle of S. Domingo. In the harbour lay the French cutter Albion, armed with two 4-pounders, six swivels, and twenty muskets, and manned by forty-three officers and men, lying under the guns of the fort of Monte Christo. A night attack was determined upon, and Lieutenant Edward Nicolls, of the Marines, volunteered, with one boat, to attempt cutting out the vessel. His offer was accepted; and on the evening of the 4th November, the red cutter, with thirteen men, including himself, pushed off from the frigate. Shortly after Captain Mudge despatched the barge, with twenty-two men, under the Hon. Warwick Lake, to follow the red cutter and supersede Nicolls in the command. As the barge approached the cutter, Nicolls hailed her and demanded a united attack. But Lake feared that the hazards were too great, and instead of following he moved away to the north-west side of the bay, leaving Lieutenant Nicolls to attack unassisted. The red cutter, thus deserted, proceeded dauntlessly on her way, and as soon as she arrived within pistol-shot was hailed. Replying with three hearty cheers the boat proceeded, and received in quick succession two volleys of musketry. The first passed over the heads of the British; but the second severely wounded the coxswain, the man at the bow-oar, and a marine. Before the French cutter could fire a third time, Nicolls, at the head of his little party, sprang on board of her. The French captain fired at the lieutenant, and the ball passed round his body in the flesh, and lodged in his right arm. At the same moment the French captain was shot. After this, little resistance was offered. The French officers and crew were driven below, with the loss, beside the captain, of five men wounded.

So far the battery had not fired, and Nicolls ordered that the Albion should be got under sail, and the cable was cut.

At this moment up came the barge, commanded by Lieutenant the Hon. Warwick Lake. He took command of the prize captured by Nicolls, and with two boats towing her soon ran her out of gunshot of the battery, which had now at last opened fire, and joined the frigate in the offing.

Captain Mudge, in his report to the Admiralty, wrote: "Having gained intelligence that there was a large coppered cutter full of bullocks for the Cape laying close under the guns of Monte Christi (four 24-pounders and three field-pieces), notwithstanding her situation, I was convinced we could bring her off; and at two this morning she was masterly and gallantly attacked by Lieutenant Lake in the cutter, and Lieutenant Nicolls, of the Marines, in the barge, who cut her out. She is ninety-two tons burden, etc. This affair lost me two men killed, and two wounded."

As will be seen, this was a gross misstatement of facts. The Hon. Warwick Lake was in the barge, and did nothing till the Albion had been captured by Lieutenant Nicolls in the cutter. Nor was this all. Among the two wounded, Lieutenant Nicolls, the hero of the action, was not named. His wound was not a scratch, but a hole on each side of his body and a ball in his arm, that sent him bleeding to the cock-pit of the Blanche.

The Patriotic Fund presented to Lieutenant Lake "for his gallantry" a sword valued at £50, and he did not blush to receive it, whereas Lieutenant Nicolls received one valued at £30. Not till much later was it discovered who had been the hero of the action, and who the sneak who flourished the plumes due to another.

In 1807 Lake was captain of the Recruit, an 18-gun brig-sloop.

Jeffery, at the age of eighteen, had entered in 1807 on board the Lord Nelson privateer of Plymouth; but eight days after, when the privateer had put into Falmouth, was pressed by an officer of the Recruit, which soon after sailed for the West Indies. Jeffery was a skulking, ill-conditioned fellow, who was caught stealing a bottle of rum and was punished for it, and by his own acknowledgment, on December 10th, went to the spruce-beer cask and drew off about two quarts. A shipmate saw and informed against Jeffery, and Captain Lake ordered the sergeant of marines to "put him in the black list," and he had the word Thief painted on a bit of canvas and affixed to his back.

Edward Spencer, master, told his captain that the fellow was no good on board, and that the best thing that could be done with him was to put him on shore.

On the 13th December the Recruit was passing the island of Sombrero, that lies between the islet of Anyada in the Puerta Virgin Islands and that of Anguella in the Lesser Antilles group. It was towards evening between five and six of the afternoon. Captain Lake then ordered Jeffery to be brought on deck, and saying that he would not keep such a worthless scoundrel on the ship, gave orders to Lieutenant Mould to have out the boat and convey Jeffery on shore. Neither the captain nor any of the crew knew that the island was desert and waterless. They believed that it was inhabited by a few fishermen, and in the evening light mistook some rocks on shore for houses. Accordingly, a little before 6 p.m., Jeffery was placed in a boat along with the second lieutenant of the brig, Richard Cotten Mould, a midshipman, and four sailors, and landed on Sombrero, without shoes to his feet, or any other clothes than those on his back, and without even a biscuit for food.

Lieutenant Mould, seeing that the lad's feet were cut and bleeding by stepping on the sharp-pointed rocks, begged a pair of shoes for him from one of the seamen, and gave him his knife and a couple of handkerchiefs, to be made use of as signals, and advised him to keep a sharp look-out for passing vessels. Then he pulled back to the Recruit.

Captain Lake was possibly suffering from what would now be termed a "swollen head." His father, a gallant officer, but of no great descent, for his services in the Maharatta war had been created Baron Lake of Delhi and of Aston Clinton, Bucks, in 1804, and had received thanks for his services by both Houses of Parliament. His elder brother had married the sister of Charles, Earl of Whitworth, and his father had been granted an augmentation of arms, a fish naiant in fesse, to represent the fish of the Great Mogul, pierced with shafts.

Lake was a hot-headed man, and he had just dined. That he intended to commit an act of barbarity is far from the truth. Jeffery was a nuisance of which he desired to free the ship, and the opportunity offered, and he took advantage of it without stopping to inquire what was the nature of the island on which he left the young man.

On reaching the Leeward Islands, where Sir Alexander Cochrane was in command of the squadron, that officer heard of what Lake had done, promptly reprimanded him, and ordered him to return to Sombrero and fetch off Jeffery.

On February 11th, 1809, the Recruit anchored off the island, and her officers landed and searched it over, but neither Jeffery nor his body could be found. A pair of trousers and a tomahawk handle were the only vestiges of humanity discoverable. The island, however, abounded in turtle and wild birds and their eggs, but the water was brackish.

For eight days, in fact, Jeffery had wandered over the hump of rock and sand that constituted the islet of Sombrero, and lived on limpets and eggs, and drunk the water collected in fissures of the rock. He does not seem to have been given flint and steel, and the means of making a fire, so that he could not feast on turtle and puffins; but, indeed, there were no trees, consequently hardly any fuel available for cooking a dinner.

He saw several vessels pass, and indeed Sombrero was in the track of merchant vessels, but he failed to make them observe his signals. At length, on the morning of the ninth day, the schooner Adams, of Marblehead, Massachusetts, John Dennis master, came to the island and took the fellow off, and landed him at Marblehead, where he worked at a forge. Little conscious that he was like to be made political capital of and to become of consequence, he did not even trouble to write home to Polperro to announce his safety and his whereabouts.

Sir A. Cochrane was satisfied that the man could not have died on Sombrero, as his body was not discovered, nor was he likely to die on an island abounding in turtles and eggs; he concluded that he had been carried away by one of the many ships that passed. He convinced himself that Captain Lake had been guilty of an illegal act, but had not desired to do one that was cruel, and he hoped that the matter would be forgotten after he had administered a reprimand.

But the story got about. It reached England. A busybody, Charles M. Thomas, who had been purser on board H.M. sloop Demarara, but had been imprisoned on suspicion that he had defrauded the Government, wrote home to Mr. C. Bathurst, brother of the M.P. for Bristol, to this effect: "I deem it a duty I owe to humanity, to inform you that Captain Lake, when commander of the Recruit, set a man belonging to that vessel on shore at Sombrero, an uninhabited island in the Atlantic Archipelago, where he died through hunger, or otherwise, for more was never heard of him. This was known to Sir A. Cochrane, who suffered this titled murderer to escape, and he is now in command of the Ulysses." The letter was dated March 24th, 1809, more than a year after Jeffery had been left on Sombrero. Its purport was obvious enough. Thomas wanted to be revenged on Cochrane for looking into the matter of his alleged frauds.

The fat was now in the fire. Sir Francis Burdett took the matter up, the Radicals throughout the country made immense capital out of the starving to death of a poor seaman by a member of a noble family. The case was kept perseveringly before the public, so that the Government was constrained to issue orders for a strict inquiry to be made as to whether Jeffery was still alive or dead.

Presently an account was received, purporting to be by Jeffery, giving information relative to his rescue and his condition in America; but as to this was appended a cross for his signature, whereas Jeffery was known to have been able to write, the public were led to suspect that this was a fabrication contrived by Lake's relatives and friends.

To settle the matter finally, a ship was despatched to bring Jeffery home, and he arrived at Portsmouth in October, 1810, three years after his adventure in Sombrero, and to find himself the hero of a party. On October 22nd he attended at the Admiralty, where he received his discharge, and had the "R" taken off his name, by which he became entitled to all arrears of pay. The family of Captain Lake made him liberal compensation for the very slight hardships he had undergone, but which in Jeffery's own account and in that of his partisans were magnified enormously.

On the 5th and 6th of February, 1810, a court-martial assembled on board the Gladiator at Portsmouth to try Captain Lake for having abandoned a seaman on a desert and uninhabited island. Captain Lake complained that the witnesses whom he might have summoned to speak for him were away in various ships in different parts of the world. He produced a letter signed by all the officers of the Ulysses, the vessel he then commanded, protesting that he was humane and incapable of doing an act of wanton cruelty.

At this time it was not known whether Jeffery was alive or dead. Captain Lake made a manly defence. "You will be pleased to recollect the evidence of Mr. Spencer, the chief witness on the part of the prosecution, on this point. He himself advised me to get the man out of the ship, and I declare that, by landing him, I thought he would be made more sensible of his want of conduct, and reform in future. I was persuaded at the time that the island was inhabited; in addition to which, I cannot but suppose it within your knowledge that the island is not out of reach of human assistance. I need not state that it is within the track of vessels on particular destinations, and which frequently pass within hail of the island. Jeffery found this to be the case, and there is no reason to doubt but that he was taken off the island; for on a search being made for him there afterwards, one of the witnesses states expressly that not a trace of him was to be found, which I cannot conceive could have been the case if he had perished there, as is most unwarrantably asserted by Thomas. Gentlemen, I have no doubt he was conveyed to America in perfect safety. I myself verily believe he is in England at this moment, consigned (as it were) to the merchants who, perhaps, are keeping him concealed till the edict of the court-martial is known, and then he may be let loose upon me, to seek a compensation in damages by an action at law. The place of his concealment, however, has hitherto eluded the diligence of my agents."

He appealed to the official report made to the Admiralty at the time by Sir A. Cochrane: "Be pleased to consider attentively the statement made by this official communication; contrast it with the letter of Thomas, and then decide whether he was warranted in asserting that Robert Jeffery had perished through the inhumanity of one whom he has thought proper to describe as a 'titled murderer.'"

The court-martial pronounced sentence: "Pursuant to an order from the Right Honourable Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, dated 3rd February instant, and directed to the President, setting forth that a letter had been addressed to their Lordships by the Right Hon. Charles Bathurst, enclosing a letter to him from Mr. Charles Morgan Thomas, dated 24th March, 1809 ... and having heard evidence produced in support of the charge, and by the said Hon. Warwick Lake in his Defence ... the Court is of opinion, That the charge has been proved against the said Hon. Warwick Lake, and doth adjudge him to be dismissed from His Majesty's service; and the said Hon. Warwick Lake is hereby dismissed from His Majesty's service."

In 1836 the Hon. Warwick Lake succeeded to the viscounty, and died in 1848, leaving behind him only two daughters, one unmarried, the other married to a Gloag. He was certainly very hardly treated, and as certainly an utterly worthless scoundrel was exalted into a hero. Jeffery returned to Polperro, where he was received with curiosity. There his antecedents were well known, and the value of his statements of terrible privation taken for what they were worth. Elsewhere he received an enthusiastic ovation. He hired himself out to be "run" by speculators at some of the minor theatres in London as "Jeffery the Sailor." After a few months he returned to Polperro with money enough in his pocket to enable him to purchase a small schooner for the coasting trade.

The speculation did not answer his expectations. He fell into consumption, and died in 1820, leaving a wife and daughter in great penury. He was a mean, not to say a despicable creature, who was used for political purposes, and when he had served these was allowed to drop into his proper insignificance.

Authorities are a Life of Robert Jeffery, published by B. Crosby, 1811. An Account of R. Jeffery, published by J. Pitt, 1811.

A Narrative of the Life of Robert Jeffery, with portrait, 1810.

Couch, J.: History of Polperro, edited by J. Q. Couch, 1870.

James's Naval History, 1876, Vol. IV.

Cobbett's Political Register, 1810, pp. 396-415, 459-464.

Cobbett gives a report of the courts-martial.

The story was also given in Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, 1848, pp. 147-51.

ADMIRAL RICHARD DARTON THOMAS

Richard Darton Thomas was born at Saltash on 2nd June, 1777, son of Charles and Mary Thomas of that place. Drinking in the sea air, living in the midst of sailors and fisher-folk, he early took a fancy for the sea, and entered as an able-bodied seaman in the Royal Navy, in 1790, at the age of thirteen. His intelligence, his pleasant manners, won the regard of his officers and he was raised to be midshipman in 1792, and became master's mate in the ensuing year. He was in the Boyne under Sir John Jervis when Martinique was captured, and on the return of the Boyne to England, he was on board when that vessel was burnt at Spithead, 1st May, 1795. The marines had been exercising and firing on the windward side, and it is supposed that some ignited paper of the cartridges flew through the quarter-galley into the admiral's cabin and communicated with the papers lying about on the table. It was at 11 a.m. that the fire broke out, the flames bursting through the poop before the fire was discovered, and it spread so rapidly that in less than half an hour this fine ship, in spite of every exertion of the officers and crew, was in a blaze fore and aft. As soon as the fire was discovered by the fleet, all the boats of the ships proceeded to the assistance of the Boyne, and the whole of the numerous crew, except eleven, were saved.

The Boyne's guns being loaded went off as they became heated, discharging their shot among the shipping, whereby two men were killed and one wounded on board the Queen Charlotte. At about half-past one the Boyne burnt from her cables and drifted to the east with a streamer of fire and smoke pouring from her; she then grounded and continued to burn till six o'clock, when the fire reached her magazine and she blew up. This, as Captain Brenton wrote, "offered one of the most magnificent sights that can be conceived. The afternoon was perfectly calm and the sky clear; the flames which darted from her in a perpendicular column of great height were terminated by an opaque white cloud like a round cap, while the air was filled with fragments of wreck in every direction, and the stump of the foremast was seen above the smoke descending to the water."

We next find Thomas serving as lieutenant on board the Excellent, commanded by Captain Collingwood, in the battle off Cape S. Vincent. It was intended that the Spanish fleet should join that of Brest, if this latter could get out, then if joined by the Dutch fleet, cover the transports that would convey an invading army to England. But, as Touchstone wisely said, there is "much virtue in If." Sir John Jervis fell in with the Spanish fleet of twenty-seven sail of the line, on February 14th, 1797, as it had just issued from Cadiz. The English had only fifteen men-of-war; but the greater part of the Spanish crew were about equally destitute of seamanship and spirit, and Nelson had said just before the breaking out of the war with Spain, that if her fleet were no better now than when it acted in alliance with us it would "soon be done for." By breaking the line, by battering and boarding, four Spanish ships of the line, including one of 112 guns, were taken; and all the rest were driven into Cadiz and there blockaded.

During the action the Excellent, on which Richard Thomas was lieutenant, was acknowledged by Nelson to have taken a very distinguished share, and to have rendered him the most effectual support in the hottest part of the battle, as will be seen by the following note which he addressed to her commander, and an extract from his own account of the transactions in which he himself was personally engaged.

His note ran: "Dear Collingwood,—A friend in need is a friend indeed."

Nelson's account of the assistance he received from the Excellent runs thus:—

"At this time (about 2.15 p.m.) the Salvador del Mundo and San Esidero dropped astern, and were fired into, in a masterly style, by the Excellent, Captain Collingwood, who compelled the San Esidero to hoist English colours; and I thought the large ship, the Salvador del Mundo, had also struck, but Captain Collingwood, disdaining the parade of taking possession of a vanquished enemy, most gallantly pushed up, with every sail set, to save his old friend and messmate, who was to appearance in a critical state, the Blenheim being ahead, the Culloden crippled and astern. The Excellent ranged up within two feet of the San Nicholas, giving a most tremendous fire. The San Nicholas luffing up, the San Josef fell on board her; and the Excellent passing on for the Santa Trinidada, the Captain resumed her station abreast of these, and close alongside."

The Excellent, in fact, succeeded in getting close under the lee of the Santissima Trinidada, mounting 130 guns, and engaged her for nearly an hour, assisted by the Orion, the Irresistible, and the Blenheim. The huge vessel was compelled to haul down her colours, but the approach of thirteen other Spanish ships prevented her opponents from profiting by the advantage they had gained. The total loss on the Excellent amounted to eleven men killed and a dozen wounded.

We need not follow Richard D. Thomas through his various changes of ships. He was mainly with Collingwood, whose flag, as Rear-Admiral of the White, was flying on board the Barfleur, of ninety-eight guns. With him he remained on Channel service till the suspension of hostilities in 1802. He was given the rank of commander in 1803, when in the Chichester off Halifax.

Returning from Nova Scotia, as a passenger on board the packet Lady Hobart, commanded by Captain Fellowes, he experienced shipwreck and terrible hardships, by the vessel running on an iceberg.

After giving an account of his sailing from Halifax, June 22nd, 1803, and the capture of a French schooner laden with salt fish on the 26th, Captain Fellowes says:—

"Tuesday, 28th June.—Blowing hard from the westward, with a heavy sea and hazy weather, with intervals of thick fog. About 1 a.m. the ship, then going by the log at the rate of seven miles an hour, struck against an island of ice with such violence that several of the crew were pitched out of their hammocks. Being roused out of my sleep by the suddenness of the shock, I instantly ran upon the deck. The helm being put hard aport, the ship struck again about the chest-tree, then swung round on her keel, her stern-post being stove in, and her rudder carried away before we could succeed in an attempt to haul her off. At this time the island of ice appeared to hang quite over the ship, possessing a high peak, which must have been at least twice the height of our masthead; and we suppose the length of the island to have been from a quarter to half a mile.

"The sea was now breaking over the ice in a dreadful manner, the water rushing in so fast as to fill the hold in a few minutes. Hove the guns overboard, cut away the anchors from the bows, got two sails under the ship's bottom, kept both pumps going, and baling with buckets at the main hatchway, in the hope of preventing her from sinking; but in less than a quarter of an hour she settled down in her forechains in the water.

"Our situation was now become most perilous. Aware of the danger of a moment's delay in hoisting out the boats, I consulted Captain Thomas of the Navy, and Mr. Bargus, my master, as to the propriety of making any further attempts to save the ship."

Both declared that nothing effectual could be done to the vessel herself, and that, as every moment was precious, the boats should be got out and manned. Of these there were two, the cutter and the jolly-boat, and the ladies were placed in the former.

Captain Fellowes expressed himself afterwards warmly of the ability and readiness with which Captain Thomas aided him. In bringing the ladies into the cutter, one of them, Miss Cottenham, was so terrified that she sprang from the wreck and pitched in the bottom of the boat with considerable violence. This accident might have been serious, but happily she was not injured.

"The few provisions which had been saved from the men's berths were then put into the boats. By this time the main deck forward was under water, and nothing but the quarter-deck appeared; I then ordered my men into the boats.

"The ship was sinking fast, and I called to the men to haul up and receive me, intending to drop into the cutter from the end of the trysail boom.

"The sea was running so high at the time we hoisted out the boats that I scarcely flattered myself we should get them out safely; and, indeed, nothing but the steady and orderly conduct of the crew could have enabled us to effect so difficult and hazardous an undertaking; it is a justice to them to observe that not a man in the ship attempted to make use of the liquor, which every one had in his power.

"We had scarce quitted the ship when she suddenly gave a heavy lurch to port, and then went down foremost. I cannot attempt to describe my own feelings, or the sensations of my people, exposed as we were, in two small open boats, upon the great Atlantic Ocean, bereft of all assistance but that which our own exertions, under Providence, could afford us, we narrowly escaped being swallowed up in the vortex.

"We rigged the foremast, and prepared to shape our course in the best manner that circumstances would admit of, the wind blowing from the precise point on which it was necessary to sail to reach the nearest land. An hour had scarcely elapsed from the time the ship struck till she foundered. The distribution of the crew had already been made in the following order, which we afterwards preserved:—

"In the cutter were embarked three ladies and myself, Captain Richard Thomas; the French commander of the schooner; the master's mate, gunner, steward, carpenter, and eight seamen; in all eighteen people, whose weight, together with the provisions, brought the boat's gunwale down to within six or seven inches of the water. From this confined space some idea may be formed of our crowded state; but it is scarcely possible for the imagination to conceive the extent of our sufferings in consequence.

"In the jolly-boat were embarked Mr. Samuel Bargus, master; Lieut.-Colonel George Cocks, of the 1st Regiment of Guards;[16] the boatswain, sailmaker, and seven seamen—in all eleven persons.

"The only provisions, etc., we were enabled to save consisted of between forty and fifty pounds of biscuits, one vessel containing five gallons of water, a small jug of the same, and part of a small barrel of spruce beer; one demi-john of rum, a few bottles of port wine, with two compasses, a quadrant, a spy-glass, a small tin mug, and a wine-glass. The deck lantern, which had a few spare candles in it, had been likewise thrown into the boat; and the cook having had the precaution to secure the tinder-box and some matches that were kept in a bladder, we were afterwards enabled to steer by night.

"The wind was now blowing strong from the westward, with a heavy sea, and the day just dawned. Estimating ourselves to be at the distance of 350 miles from S. John's, Newfoundland, with a prospect of a continuance of westerly winds, it became necessary to use the strictest economy. I represented to my companions in distress that our resolution, once made, ought on no account to be changed, and that we must begin by suffering privations, which I foresaw would be greater than I ventured to explain. To each person, therefore, were served out half a biscuit and a glass of wine, which was the only allowance for the ensuing twenty-four hours, all agreeing to leave the water untouched as long as possible."

On the following day even this small allowance had to be contracted, in consequence of the biscuit being much damaged by salt water during the night. "Soon after daylight we made sail, with the jolly-boat in tow, and stood close-hauled to the northward and westward, in the hope of reaching the coast of Newfoundland or of being picked up by some vessel. Passed two islands of ice. We now said prayers, and returned thanks to God for our deliverance."