OLD TREVARTEN:
A TALE OF THE PIXIES[156]
Horse and hattock, ‘but and ben;’[157]
Horses for the Pixie people,
Hattock for the Brownie men.”
People may talk if they please about the march of agriculture, and they may boast that by the discoveries of science a man will soon be able to carry into a large field enough manure for its soil in his coat-pocket, but there has been the ready answer, “Yes, and bring away the produce in his fob.” I am half inclined to agree with an old parishioner of mine, who used often to say, “It was an unlucky time for England when the phrase ‘gentleman farmer’ came up, and folks began to try their new-fangled plans—such as clover for horses and turnips for sheep.” “Rents,” he declared, “were never lower than when a tenant would pare and burn,[158] and take their crops out of every field, so as to carry off the land as much as he brought on it”—a theory on which, being a renter himself, he had thriven, and put by money for full fifty years. Equally original, by the way, were the devices cherished by my aged friend for the repair of roads. When Macadam had driven his first turnpike through the West, a public dinner was given in honour of the event; and being presented with a free ticket, and well coaxed into the bargain, Old Trevarten made his appearance as a guest. But it was observed that, amid all the jingling of glasses and cheering of toasts, he sat motionless and mute, if not actually sulky. At length the engineer, somewhat piqued at his silence, said, during a pause, “Why, sir, I am afraid that I have not had the honour of gaining your approval in this undertaking of mine.”
“To tell you the truth, sir,” was the slow and sturdy answer, “I don’t like your road at all, by no means.”
“Well, but what are your reasons, sir, for disliking what most people are pleased with?”
“Why, sir, you have had a brave lot of money out of the country, and there’s nothing as I see to show for it—’tis all gone!”
“Gone, sir, gone! Why, bless me, isn’t there the road—the fine, wide, level road?”
“Well, yes, sartainly; but where’s they matereyals that cost such a sight of taxes? You’ve smashed mun to nort: there’s pilm [dust] in the drought, and there’s mucks [mud] in the rain, but nowt else that I see. Now, when I wor way-warden of Wide Widger, I let the farmers have something to show for their money. Why, sir, ’tis ten year agone come Candlemas that I wor in office for the ways, and I put down stones as big as beehives, and there they be now!”
Access to such a living volume of bygone usages and notions was an advantage not to be despised, and it was long my custom to resort to “mine ancient” for information difficult to be obtained elsewhere. Once “I do remember me” that I encountered him in the middle of a reedy marsh on his farm. He paused, and awaited my approach, leaning on his staff just where the path crossed a bed of the cotton-rush, then in full bloom. I had gathered a handful of the stalks, each with its pod of fine white gossamer threads, like a bunch of snowy silk.
“Ha!” said he, with a kind of half alarm, “you bean’t afeared to pick that there?”
“Afraid? No; why should I be?”
“Why, some people think it’s unlucky to carry off the pisky wool; but perhaps you know from the Scriptures how to keep off any harm.”
I did know better than to reason against such fancies with a Cornish yeoman of threescore and fifteen, and I thought it a good opening for a saw or ancient instance.[159] “Pixies!” was my leading answer; “and who are they?”
“Ancient inhabitants,” was the grave reply—“folks that used to live in the land before us Christians comed here. So, at least, I’ve heerd my mother say. They are a small people.”
“And what about this wool? What use do they make of it.”
“Why, they spin it for clothing, and to keep ’em warm by night. They’d do a power of work for the farmers, and for a very small matter to eat and drink, too; and they would sing, evenings—sing and crowdie like a Christmas choir.”
The solemn tones of his voice, and the grim gravity of visage with which old Trevarten made known these mysteries, attested his own deep belief in their reality and truth. “Had I never seen those rings on the grass upon Hennacleave Hill—circles about a foot wide, of a darker colour than the rest of the turf?” he inquired, well knowing that I had, but rather rejoicing in an opportunity of enlightening me with scientific revelations of his own. “Did I know how they came there, and who made them?”
“No.”
“Well, that was surprising: he thought that the college teached such things, or why did it cost so much money to go there to learn? Howsomever, he would let me know about they rings. The piskies made mun, dancing hand-in-hand by night. They rise about midnight, and they put on their Sunday clothes, and they agree to meet in such or such a spot, and there one will crowdie and the others daunce, and beat out the time with their feet, till they’ve worn the shape of a round-about in the grass, and nort will wear out that ring for evermore!”
Deeply grateful for this information, I ventured to inquire, “And did you ever see any of these pixy people yourself?”
“Why, I can’t say for sartain that I didno seed mun; my mother hath—so I’ve yeerd her tell divers times. No; but I’ve seed their works, such as tying up the manes of the colts in stirrups for riding by night, and terrifying the cows into the clover till they wor jist a bosted with the wet grass. And I’ve been pisky-eyed more than once coming home from the market or fair; and I’ve yeerd mun at their rollicking night-times frayquently, but I can’t say that I ever seed their faytures, so as to know ’em again another time.”
“Well,” said I, as a sort of closing and clenching remark, “all I can say is that I wish I could lay hold of one of these pixies, just to look at—that’s all.”
“Do you?” was his quick rejoinder; “do you really desire it? I daresay I can oblige you one day. It is not a month agone that I’d all but catched one.”
“Indeed!” said I, half bewildered. “How? Where was it?”
“Why, sir, you see the case was this. I’d a bin to Simon Jude fair, and I stayed rather latish settling with the jobber Brown for some sheep, and so it wor past twelve o’clock at night before I come through Stowe wood; and just as I crossed Combe Water, sure enough I yeerd the piskies. I know’d very well where their ring was close by the gate, and so I stopped my horse and got off. Well, on I croped afoot till there was nothing but a gap between me and the pisky ring, and I could hear every word they said. One had got the crowder, and he was working away his elbow to the tune of ‘Green Slieves’ bravely, and the rest wor dauncing and singing and merrymaking like a stage-play. It made me just ’mazed in my head to look at ’em. Well, I thort to myself, if I could but catch one of these chaps to carry home! I’ve yeerd that there’s nothing so lucky in a house as a tame pisky. So I stooped down and I picked up a stone, oh, as big as my two fistes, and I swinged my arm and I scrashed the stone right into the ring. What a screech there was! Such a yell! and one in pertickler I yeerd screaming and hopping with a leg a-brok like a drashel. That one I was pretty sure of. But still, as it was very late, and my wife would be looking for me home, and it was dark also, so I thout I might as well come down and fetch my pisky in the morning by daylight. Well, sure enough, soon as I rose, I took one of these baskets with a cover that the women have invented—a ridicule, they call it—and down I goes to the ring. And do you know, sir, they’d a be so cunning—they’d a had the art for to carry their comrade clear off, and there wasn’t so much as a screed of one left! But, however,” said my venerable friend, seeing that I did not look quite satisfied with the evidence, “however, there the stone was that I drashed in amongst mun!”
Alas! alas! how often in after-days, when I have encountered the theories of men learned in the ’ologies, and pondered the prodigious inferences which they had deduced from a stratum here and a deposit there,—how irresistibly have my thoughts recurred to old Trevarten and his amount of proof, “There the stone was that I drashed in amongst mun”!
APPENDICES
BY
THE REV. PREBENDARY ROGER GRANVILLE,
THE LATE REV. W. WADDON MARTYN
AND
R. PEARSE CHOPE
APPENDIX A (p. 8)
MORWENSTOW
By R. PEARSE CHOPE
The “endowment” referred to by Mr. Hawker is a copy of the original document, which was executed on May 20th, 1296, by Bishop Thomas de Bytton. The church was appropriated by his predecessor, Bishop Peter Quivil, to the Hospital of St. John the Baptist at Bridgwater, on November 16th, 1290. Bishop Bytton’s Register having been lost, the “endowment” was copied by William Germyne, Registrar to John Woolton, Bishop from 1579 to 1593-94, on a blank page of the Register of Thomas de Brantyngham, Bishop from 1370 to 1394. The name “Walter Brentingham” is probably due to some confusion between this Thomas de Brantyngham and Bishop Walter de Stapeldon, for there was no Bishop of Exeter having the first name. Germyne’s copy is printed in full in the Register of Bishop Brantyngham, edited by the Rev. F. C. Hingeston-Randolph (Part I. p. 106), and is here reproduced.
“Universis presentes Literas inspecturis Thomas, permissione Divina Exoniensis Episcopus, salutem et pacem in Domino sempiternam.—Noverit Universitas vestra quod, cum olim bone memorie Petrus, tunc Exoniensis Episcopus, Ecclesiam de Morewinstowe, cum juribus suis et pertinenciis, Religiosis viris, Magistro et Fratribus Hospitalis Sancti Johannis de Bridgwater, Bathoniensis Diocesis, de consensu Capituli sui appropriasset, et concessisset eisdem in usus proprios imperpetuum possidendam, salva competenti Vicaria, per ipsum et Successores suos taxanda et ordinanda juxta juris exigenciam in eadem; nos, eidem postmodum succedentes in onere et honore, cum res integra adhuc existeret, pensatis ejusdem Ecclesie facultatibus, habita super hoc cognicione debita que requiritur in hac parte, de expresso consensu dictorum Magistri et Fratrum, ipsam Vicariam, quod in subscriptis porcionibus consistat imperpetuum, tenore Presentium ordinamus; videlicet, quod Vicarius qui pro tempore in Ecclesia supradicta fuerit habeat et percipiat, nomine Vicarie, omnes fructus, proventus, et obvenciones totius alterlagii Ecclesie supradicte; sub quo, preter ceteros proventus, decimam feni totius Parochie, simul cum tota decima molendinorum ejusdem Parochie, volumus comprehendi; cum Sanctuario jacente a parte Occidentali curie et croftarum Parsonatus Ecclesie supradicte, sursum a veteri via que ducit usque ad mare et usque ad deorsum ad rivulum in valle, cum duabus croftis subter Ecclesiam a parte Boreali, et cetera terra ibidem usque ad quendam fontem Johannis, quatuor acras terre continente et ultra; cum tota decima garbarum ville de Stanburie et trium villarum de Tunnacombis; volentes et ordinantes quod dicta Religiosi omnes Libros et Ornamenta dicte Ecclesie, si que deficiunt, vel usu seu vetustate consumpta fuerint, que, tamen, ad ipsos parochianos non pertinent, suis sumptibus de novo invenient; alia, vero, si per reparacionem fuerint per tempus non breve duratura, in statum congruum et sufficientem reparent et reficiant hac vice prima; quodque extunc custodia eorundem et reparacio pro tempore successuro, una cum omnibus oneribus ordinariis integraliter, et extraordinariis pro quarta parte dumtaxat, ad Vicarium qui pro tempore fuerit pertineant; residua parte dictorum onerum extraordinariorum, una cum sustentatione, reparatione, et reedificatione Cancelli ipsius Ecclesie dictis Religiosis totaliter incumbente.—In cujus rei testimonium nos, Thomas, Exoniensis Episcopus supradictus, sigillum nostrum, et nos, prefati Magister et Fratres sigillum nostrum commune Presentibus duximus apponendum.—Data apud Chidleghe, xiijo Calendas Junii [May 20th], Anno Domini Millesimo ducentesimo nonagesimo sexto.
“Hec Taxatio vere est Registrata,
“Willelmus Germyne.”
The Editor points out, in an interesting note, that the certified copy of this, which was used by Mr. Hawker, has “Tidnacombis” instead of “Tunnacombis.” In the Register itself the letter “u” is turned up at the end, the usual contracted form of “un,” but the writing is obscure; and, although experts would read it correctly without hesitation, it might easily, in this case, be mistaken for “id” by others. One of Mr. Hawker’s most beautiful poems is entitled “The Token Stream of Tidna Combe.” It is interesting to note that Stanbury was the birthplace of John Stanbury, Bishop of Hereford, who died 1474. He was confessor to Henry VI., and was nominated the first Provost of Eton College, although he never took up the office.
The following curious tradition relating to the extremely rude font is quoted by Lieut.-Colonel Harding in a paper on Morwenstow Church in the “Transactions of the Exeter Diocesan Architectural Society” (Second Series, vol. i. p. 216). It has been preserved among some valuable MSS. which belong to the Coffin family of Portledge, near Bideford, and were collected by an antiquary of that family about three hundred years ago.
“Moorwinstow, its name is from St. Moorin. The tradition is, that when the parishioners were about to build their church, this saint went down under the cliff and chose a stone for the font which she brought up upon her head. In her way, being weary, she lay down the stone and rested herself, out of which place sprang a well, from thence called St. Moorin’s well. Then she took it up and carried it to the place where now the church standeth. The parishioners had begun their church in another place, and there did convey this stone, but what was built by day was pulled down by night, and the materials carried to this place; whereupon they forbare, and built it in the place they were directed to by a wonder.”
The date on one of the capitals seems to be 1564 instead of 1475. The inscription runs round the capital, each of the twenty letters being on a separate face, thus—
“THIS WAS MADE ANNO MVCLX4”
The next capital has the following inscription, upside down—
“THIS IS THE HOVSE OF THE L.”
The supposed piscina, according to the Rev. S. Baring-Gould, is merely “the base of a small pillar, Norman in style, with a hole in it for a rivet which attached to it the slender column it supported” (“The Vicar of Morwenstow,” ed. 1899, p. 60). It has also been stated that Mr. Hawker obtained the piscina from the ruined chapel at Longfurlong, Hartland, and placed it in his church at Morwenstow (Rev. T. H. Chope, “Hartland Parish,” 1896, p. 17).[160]
APPENDIX Aa (p. 9 and foll.)
MORWENSTOW CHURCH
By the Late Rev. W. WADDON MARTYN
One of the most beautiful of Mr. Hawker’s poems commences with the words “My Saxon shrine.” It becomes of interest, therefore, to examine as far as possible into the dates which attach to the different periods of architecture of the truly venerable church of Morwenstow.
It is very likely that Mr. Hawker is correct when he speaks of the first church here dedicated to God’s service as being of Saxon times, but it is equally true that, with the exception of perhaps the font, no trace of that early building remains. The earliest portion of the present building consists of the south porch and the three Norman arches which form the western portion of the north arcade. There is a difference in the elaboration of the work of these three arches, but it is scarcely likely that they could have been erected at different times. It is more probable that they are intended to show the varied methods of dealing with the semi-circular arch at that early period. It is of perhaps more interest to decide whether the pattern of the Norman arch bisected, which occurs on the easternmost of the Norman pillars, was placed there at the time of the Norman church or at the time of the construction of the two Gothic arches on the same side. If the former supposition be correct, it will signify, of course, that the whole structure was made at the close of the purely Norman period; if the latter, it would be intended to explain the reason why the architecture of that period passed so strangely from the round to the pointed arch.
Before passing on to speak of the second date of architecture, which was certainly of the pure Gothic or early English character, it may be interesting to speak of the size and shape of the church as it stood in the early Norman times. Taking everything into consideration, it would seem likely that the Norman church consisted of a nave, north aisle, and chancel. The Norman porch consequently stood twelve or fourteen feet further in than at present, the boundary of this church being clearly marked by the foundation plainly visible outside the north wall.
We pass on to consider the next step in the work of enlargement, which consisted in the extension of the north aisle and the erection of two fine, though somewhat rudely constructed, arches with circular pillars. By this means the chancel became absorbed in the new portion of the aisle, and consequently the present chancel was erected further on to the eastward.
The next step consisted in the erection of the three bays of very beautiful polyphant stone on the south side exactly co-extensive with the three Norman arches, so that a line drawn from the foundation-stones of the Norman church southwards through the church would mark the boundary of the polyphant extension also. It is difficult to assign a date to this very beautiful addition, but we must suppose that the present wall-plate, with its richly and boldly carved foliage, dated from this period. There would seem to be good ground for this argument, inasmuch as the last addition to the church in 1564, when the two granite arches were erected on the south-eastern side of the church, had a piece of wall-plate specially carved for that new portion. It is quite certain that the whole roof of the church was put up in 1564 at the time of the erection of the granite arches, and I have no doubt that this roof was placed upon the older and magnificent wall-plate, since much injured by the leaks which a defective roof has caused in so many places. It is worth noting that, although the polyphant arches were erected prior to the granite ones, yet they were taken down and the whole arcade entirely rebuilt at the same time. This I consider proved by the fact that the relieving arches are so very similar in character. The effect, meanwhile, on the wall-plate on the south side of the nave was not good, the exactly perpendicular line of the pillars and arches not catching it on every point, and thus giving it a somewhat ragged appearance which it will require care to rectify.
A word here on the height of the building. It is probable that the present height was attained when the early English arches were erected. Before that time the church was evidently lower. This, again, may be proved by the additional stonework which was added above the Norman arches, and which must have been so added at the next additional work, as the two lofty arches (especially that at the east) would really require it.
A very interesting question remains, as to whether the portion of ground now spanned by the granite arches was formerly disused, or whether it formed a Baptistery or other building in connection with the church, such as priests’ chambers, etc. That it was separated off from the portion of the church at the west end of the south aisle is evident by the discovery of a portion of the wall which so separated it, running southwards from the westernmost of the granite pillars. I may add that in the same way traces of the Norman chancel further to the west than the present chancel were found when the workmen were engaged in the work of restoration.
There only remains to notice the last period of restoration, the first time in which, as far as we can judge, granite was introduced into the building. The date may be found on the westernmost of the two pillars—MDLX4: on the other the words, “This is the House of the Lord.” It is noticeable that the half polyphant pillar, which had at one time formed the boundary of the arcade towards the east, was then carried forwards and placed against the wall of the chancel. It thus seems to mark, not only that the arcade was designed at different periods, but that it was ultimately (the former portion being taken down) all built together.
It was at this time (c. 1564) that the whole fabric of the church (possibly not the chancel) was built [it may be clearly seen where the new work stands on the old early English foundations on the north side], the only remaining portion untaken down being the Norman and early English pillars, and a portion of the wall by the south porch, and (as before observed) possibly the chancel.
The tower was, we may consider, built at the same time as the church, in 1564.
The seats, with their magnificent carving, followed in 1575, as is testified by an inscription[161] on the rail of the front seat touching the pulpit. This will, however, be removed in due course, the position of these few seats being contrary to the original plan. I should think that this rail and the seats also were formerly fixed where the font at present stands at the end of the church.
As we stand within the walls and beneath the bending roofs of this magnificent building, our mind naturally inquires what teaching its designs serve to afford us—the cable on its font, the dog-tooth pattern on its Norman arches. Is it really true that, following out the established teaching of the nave, whereby the ship with inverted side was depicted to us—is it really true that, following out this idea, the cable implied the anchor by which every soul baptized into Christ was bound to Christ? Does the pattern, with its many points (“dog-tooth,” as it is generally spoken of), really signify the ripple on the Lake of Gennesaret? Do the three steps by which we enter allude in very deed to the Baptism of John, the saint of dedication? It would certainly seem probable that, having acknowledged the church to be the nave or ship, we should not find that the imagery would end here, but that it would pass into other matters which the mediæval times knew so well how to formulate. If so, we have a rich vein of thought to be wrought out from this ancient sanctuary of the West, all untouched as it is by ruthless and destructive hands. Solemn be the thoughts of all who enter here! Lowly and humble the hearts that here bend at the feet of their great Liberator and Saviour! In the words of one who will long be remembered in the parish which he loved so well, Robert Stephen Hawker—
A cross—the builder’s holiest form:
That awful couch, where once was shed
The blood, with man’s forgiveness warm.
And here, just where His mighty breast
Throbb’d the last agony away,
They bade the voice of worship rest,
And white-robed Levites pause and pray.”
APPENDIX Ab (pp. 16, 20, 203)
SUPERSTITIONS ABOUT NORTH AND EAST
Hunt, in his “Popular Romances of the West of England,” quotes the following translation by the Rev. J. C. Atkinson from Hylten Cuvalliec’s “Wärend och Wirdurne,” pp. 287-88. It agrees with many of Hawker’s ideas.
“Inasmuch as all light and all vigour springs from the sun, our Swedish forefathers always made their prayers with their faces turned towards that luminary. When any spell or charm in connection with an ‘earth-fast stone’ is practised, even in the present day, for the removal of sickness, the patient invariably turns his face towards the east, or the sun. When a child is to be carried to church to be baptized, the Wärend usage is for the godmother first to make her morning prayer, face towards the east, and then ask the parents three several times what the child’s name is to be. The dead are invariably interred with their feet lying eastward, so as to have their faces turned towards the rising sun. Frånsols, or with or in a northerly direction, is, on the other hand, according to an ancient popular idea, the home of the evil spirits. The Old Northern Hell was placed far away in the North. When any one desires to remove or break any witch-spell, or the like, by means of ‘reading’ (or charms), it is a matter particularly observed that the stone (i.e. an ‘earth-fast’ one) is sought to the northward of the house. In like manner also the ‘bearing tree’ (any tree which produces fruit, or quasi fruit, apples, pears, &c., rowan tree, especially, and white thorn herbs), or the shrew mouse, by means of which it is hoped to remedy an evil spell, must be met with in a northerly direction from the patient’s home. Nay, if one wants to charm away sickness over (or into) a running stream, it must always be one which runs northwards. On the self-same grounds it has ever been the practice of the people of the Wärend district, even down to the present time, not to bring their dead frånsols—or to the northward—of the church. In that part of the churchyard the contemned främlings högen (strangers’ burial-place) always has its site, and in it are buried malefactors, friendless wretches, and utter strangers. A very old idea, in like manner, connects the north side of the church with suicides’ graves,” etc.
APPENDIX B (pp. 27 and 109)
The following quaint verses have been found among some unpublished manuscripts in Hawker’s handwriting:—
THE MAID OF THE CROOKS OF COMBE.
There’s an Eye that will brighten a room:
There’s a Form that would win mid the Graces:
The Maid of the Crooks of Combe!
There’s a Voice that will thrill you with gloom:
There’s a Look—how a Lover would ban it—
The Maid of the Crooks of Combe!
Where the Rose on the Bramble will bloom:
Where a Fiend like an Angel is shining:
The Maid of the Crooks of Combe.
The “Crooks of Combe” is a name given to the windings of the stream that runs down Combe Valley to the sea (see p. 109). It seems possible that these verses may have been written to accompany the story of Alice of the Combe, and then discarded. On the other hand, the legend of the mole is associated with Tonacombe Manor, and Tonacombe and Combe are two different valleys. The poem may have been addressed to Miss Kuczynski (afterwards Mrs. Hawker), who used to visit Combe and was fond of riding about the valley. The third line of the last verse is an echo from Coleridge’s poem “Love.” This poem was marked in a copy of Coleridge given by Hawker to his future wife.
APPENDIX C (pp. 80 and 87)
ARSCOTT OF TETCOTT
This was John Arscott, whose epitaph in the parish church of Tetcott ran as follows:—
“Sacred to the memory of John Arscott late of Tetcott in the Parish, Esqre, who died the 14th day of January 1788.
What his character was need not here be recorded. The deep impression which his extensive benevolence and humanity has left in the minds of his friends and dependents will be transmitted by tradition to late Posterity.”
A little paper-covered book, entitled “J. Arscott, Esq., of Tetcote, and his Jester, Black John,” was published at Plymouth in 1880 by W. H. Luke. From this we take the following:—
“The Arscotts, of Tetcot, were descended from the Arscotts, of Holsworthy, an ancient family that ramified into the several branches of Annery, Tidwell, Holsworthy and Tetcot. A descendant of the Arscotts of Holsworthy, at a remote period, purchased the manor and demesne of Tetcot from the Earl of Huntingdon and made it his principal residence, and the other branches of the family having become dispersed, and married into different houses, the representation of the family and property at Holsworthy and elsewhere became vested in Arscott, of Tetcot. The last descendant of that name—John Arscott,—the subject of the annexed song, died without issue, and devised Tetcot, with its manor and appurtenances, to his relation, the late Sir Arscott Ourry Molesworth, Bart., of Pencarrow. The late celebrated Dartmoor sportsman, known as the Foxhunter Rough and Ready, Paul Ourry Treby, Esq., of Goodamoor, was a near connection of the Tetcot patriarch, and inherited the tastes and followed the pursuits of this collateral ancestor. The lairds of Tetcot had been Sheriffs of the County of Devon, A.D. 1633-38. C.I., 1678-28. C. II., and 1755-15. G. III. The family was noted for its loyalty, and the Tetcott dependents mustered in full force and did their duty at Stratton fight on May 16, 1643, whilst hunters and men were in full working condition.”
The writer proceeds to say that the hunting song in honour of Mr. Arscott was written “170 years ago” (i.e. 1710), but as the last John Arscott lived till 1788, he would hardly have been of an age to inspire hunting songs in 1710. There was an earlier John Arscott, whose epitaph, with that of his wife, is also to be seen in Tetcott church. These epitaphs read as follows:—
“Here lieth the body of John Arscott Esqre who married the daughter of Sir Shilston Calmady. He died while Sheriffe of the County the 25th day of September 1675 aetatis suae 63.
Here also lieth the body of Gertrude wife of the deceased John Arscott Esqre who died the 18th day of October 1699 aged 77.”
If the song existed in 1710, and referred to this John Arscott, it was no doubt written still earlier. The last of the Arscotts, however, Black John’s master, would seem more likely to be the subject of it. Mr. Baring-Gould, who includes it among his “Songs of the West,” says that one of the many versions supplied to him was dated 1772, which would suit this theory. Hawker himself published the song in “Willis’s Current Notes” for December, 1853, and it has since his death been erroneously included in his poems, for apparently he only claimed to have been the first to print it, though he doubtless added some touches of his own. Black John is mentioned in his version, and Mr. Baring-Gould says that “the author of the song is said to have been one Dogget, who used to run after Arscott’s fox-hounds on foot.” A search for this name in the parish registers of Tetcott and Stratton has proved unsuccessful. Mr. R. P. Chope found a version of the song current at Hartland, and an old man there (over eighty in 1903) says that his father used to sing it seventy years ago.
From Luke’s book we learn that—
“The Old house at Tetcott, which, as well as the mansion of Dunsland, had been built under the superintendence of the Architect sent by the government of Charles II. to build Stowe for the Earl of Bath, was taken down in 1831, and a Gothic cottage constructed in its stead. The demolition of the ancient structure was a very unpopular act, and the old crones of the neighbourhood shake their heads and say that Black John and Driver (a staghound), when the Cottage was burnt down a few years only after it had been built, were seen yelling and dancing round the flames. The origin of that fire was never ascertained.”
Hawker’s poem, “Tetcott, 1831,” which is all his own, is an elegy on the destruction of the old house. He quotes one stanza of it on p. 87 of the present volume. The present representative of John Arscott’s family, Mrs. Ford, of Pencarrow, describes Tetcott as “an imposing Queen Anne’s house,” and speaks of “the front door steps under which John Arscott’s pet toad resided, and every morning came out to be fed by his kind master till the envious peacock killed him.”
Mrs. Calmady, of Great Tree, Chagford, writes as follows:—
“An old retainer, called Oliver Abbot, who, with his forefathers, had worked at Tetcott for generations, told me that Arscott of Tetcott kept not only a well-known pack of foxhounds, but a pack of foumart hounds, which he hunted by night.[162] The song, ‘Arscott of Tetcott,’ was undoubtedly not written concerning the Arscott who married Gertrude Calmady, but of the more recent John Arscott, who died in 1788, and was Black John’s master. Gossips will still tell how Black John, though pleasant and amusing enough when things went smoothly, became dangerous when roused. One day, Sir William Molesworth playfully tried to push him into one of the fishponds, when Black John, wrathfully exclaiming, ‘Turn sides, brother Willie, turn sides’ (and, although a dwarf, he was very strong), soon had Sir William in the water, and, in his rage, would have drowned him, had not a man named Beare come to the rescue.
“It is said that Arscott of Tetcott still appears on a phantom horse, with a phantom pack, on the wild moors he used to hunt, and that their cry portends death or misfortune to the unlucky wayfarer; but I am inclined to agree with the man who, when told the devil appeared to people on Cookworthy Moor, replied, ‘I’ve been out on the moor all hours of the day and night; had there been e’er a devil, I must a seen un.’ During the thirty years that Mr. Calmady lived at Tetcott, he kept up with zeal the sporting reputation of the place by keeping a pack of foxhounds and otter hounds, and showing such sport as will long be remembered in the West. During those years, I heard many a story of the olden times. One ascribed, whether rightly or wrongly, to that grand old sportsman, Paul Treby, was to the effect that, on some one asking the meaning of Dosmary Pool, he replied, ‘Don’t e knaw? Why, Do, Dos, Dot damme Mare, give’d up from the Zay, to be Zure.’
“Some years ago I obtained from a cottage in Tetcott an old Staffordshire jug, decorated with game. It was said to have been formerly in the possession of Arscott of Tetcott. This jug I have since given to Mr. Lane, the publisher.”
The surname of Black John, and the place and date of his birth, death, and burial are unknown. The editor would be glad to hear from any one who could supply information on these points.
APPENDIX D (p. 90)
DANIEL GUMB’S ROCK
By R. PEARSE CHOPE
A long account of Daniel Gumb is given in C. S. Gilbert’s “Historical Survey of Cornwall” (vol. i. p. 166). When Gilbert visited the spot in 1814, some remains of the habitation could still be traced, and on the entrance, graven on a rock, was inscribed “D. Gumb, 1735.” (See also Bond’s “Looe,” p. 203.) “Unfortunately they have now altogether disappeared before the march of the barbarians known as quarrymen.”
The Cheesewring itself was claimed by Dr. Borlase as a Rock Idol, in accordance with the quaint Druidical theories of the early antiquaries. He says—
“From its having Rock-basons, from the uppermost Stone’s being a Rocking-stone, from the well-poised structure and the great elevation of this groupe [of rocks], I think we may truely reckon it among the Rock-Deities, and that its tallness and just balance might probably be intended to express the stateliness and justice of the Supreme Being. Secondly, as the Rock-basons shew that it was usual to get upon the top of this Karn, it might probably serve for the Druid to harangue the Audience, pronounce decisions, and foretell future Events.” (“Antiquities of Cornwall,” p. 174.)
The Rev. S. Baring-Gould gives in his “Book of the West” (vol. ii. p. 107) a curious instance of the persistency of tradition in connection with a cairn near the Cheesewring, in which a gold cup was found a few years ago.
“The story long told is that a party were hunting the wild boar in Trewartha Marsh. Whenever a hunter came near the Cheesewring a prophet—by whom an Archdruid is meant—who lived there received him, seated in the stone chair, and offered him to drink out of his golden goblet, and if there were as many hunters approach, each drank, and the goblet was not emptied. Now on this day of the boar-hunt one of those hunting vowed that he would drink the cup dry. So he rode up to the rocks, and there saw the grey Druid holding out his cup. The hunter took the goblet and drank till he could drink no more, and he was so incensed at his failure that he dashed what remained of the wine in the Druid’s face, and spurred his horse to ride away with the cup. But the steed plunged over the rocks and fell with his rider, who broke his neck, and as he still clutched the cup he was buried with it.”
In Carew’s “Survey of Cornwall” (1602) occurs the following quaint description of a logan-stone called Mainamber:—
“And a great rocke the same is, aduaunced upon some others of a meaner size, with so equal a counterpeyze, that the push of a finger, will sensibly moue it too and fro: but farther to remooue it, the united forces of many shoulders are ouer-weake. Wherefore the Cornish wonder-gatherer, thus descrybeth the same.
Or proof of Giants might:
Worthlesse and ragged though thou shew,
Yet art thou worth the sight.
This hugy rock, one fingers force
Apparently will moue;
But to remooue it, many strengths
Shall all like feeble prooue.”
APPENDIX Da (p. 92)
DOZMERE POOL
The following is extracted from Hunt’s ‘Popular Romances of the West of England.’