Nooks and Corners of Cornwall

The Rise of Pendennis Castle

When Henry VIII. took thought for the coast defences of his semi-island, Falmouth was one of the places that benefited. At St. Mawes and Pendennis batteries were erected and in Budock Church is the brass of John Killigrew, with this pertinent inscription: "Heere lyeth John Killigrew Esquier of Arwenack ... he was the first Captaine of Pendennis Castle, made by King Henry the eight and so continued untill the nynth of Queene Elizabeth, at which time God tooke him to his mercye, being the yeare of our lord 1567. Sr. John Killigrew knight his sonne succeeded him in the same place by the gift of Queene Elizabeth." Henry VIII.'s batteries were not the first fortifications erected on this high point of land, which is literally the "headland fortress." There were formerly three lines of entrenchment, due to an older architect than the Mr. Treffry, of Fowey, who was responsible for this and other of the Cornish defences. Indeed from its position—it is almost surrounded by water—it was marked out both as a refuge and a point of vantage, and was probably fortified before history was more than stories handed down from father to child, or sung by wandering bards who had been given an honoured place by the hearth-fire.

Sir John Arundel

When the war broke out between Charles I. and his Parliament, Henry Killigrew was a member of the House. "I shall provide a good horse, a good buff coat, a good brace of pistols, and I doubt not I shall find a good cause," quoth he when Essex was appointed General and one and another were saying what troops they could raise; and so went out and rode post to Falmouth and plunged devotedly into the gallant struggle. He would not take any command, though he was in every action and always where there was the most danger. But it was an Arundell, not a Killigrew, who held Pendennis for the King, old John Arundell of Trerice, who as a young man had been at Tilbury when Queen Elizabeth reviewed the troops; and who was known as "Game to the Toes," "John for the King," and "Old Tilbury." To him came the unhappy Queen, Henrietta Maria, rested at Pendennis for a moment, and then winged her way back to France. A couple of years later her son, Charles, embarked here for the Scilly Isles; and shortly after, the news reached Arundell that after the conference on Tresillian Bridge the King's forces had been disbanded, and that the long struggle was over. Across the water Sir John grimly watched the surrender of St. Mawes, and when he found there were malcontents among his men, gave them a safe conduct and let them go. For himself, had he not fought at Edgehill, Lansdowne, and Bradock Down? Summoned to surrender he said he had but a few more days to live and he would not stain them with dishonour. To Fairfax he replied:

"Your servant,
"John Arundell,
"of Trerice.

"18th March, 1646."

Stout words from a stout heart; but though the castle, closely invested by land and sea, held out for five lean months and only surrendered on honourable terms, yet surrender it did; being the last place in England, with the one exception of Raglan, so to do. And on August 17, 1646, the garrison marched out "with their horses, complete arms, and other equipages, according to their present or past commands or qualities, with flying colours, trumpets sounding, drums beating, matches lighted at both ends, and bullets in their mouths." So great a stir had Sir John's defence made that not only did the House of Commons vote large sums to the messengers who brought the news that he had yielded, but September 22, 1646, was by their order set apart as a day of public thanksgiving for the surrender "of the garrisons of Pendennis and four other castles."

The Killigrews: Sir Walter Raleigh

Meanwhile Henry Killigrew, after the yielding of Pendennis, had been accidentally wounded in the head by the bursting of a carbine, while his kinsman's house in the neighbourhood had suffered from the exigencies of war. They were a stirring and a striving family, the Killigrews. The name Falmouth, in those days merely meant the land at the mouth of the Fal; and on this land, when Sir Walter Raleigh, just home from an expedition, stayed with the Killigrews at their house of Arwenack, there was only one other building large enough to accommodate his men. The Killigrews wished to develop their property. They said it was absurd that vessels had not a nearer port than Penryn or Truro; and Sir Walter having just put in to this fine natural harbour, saw the golden side of their suggestion; and cared not a jot about the loss of trade to those other towns. But Truro, Penryn, and Helston, alive to their own interests, had long thrown their weight into the opposition scale; and London was some seven days' journey to the east. Therefore the building operations of the sturdy Killigrews had been brought to a standstill.

It is easy to picture the scene. Sir Walter, after a good dinner, washed down by wines that had paid no duty, sitting at his ease before the windows of the great house, the panorama of hills and land-locked harbour stretching to the horizon, and the Killigrews pointing out its capabilities as a trading-centre and naval base! The great man listened, was convinced, and, presently moving on to London, laid the matter before his Sovereign.

It was the days of interest and influence—those days which, of course, are past and over, so that even kissing no longer goes by favour!—and the Killigrews found Sir Walter's advocacy gave them all they wanted, leave to build their big nest in their own way. From that date the opposition that had been so industriously fostered by the loyal burgesses of Truro, Penryn, and Helston ceased. Why Helston should have taken part is somewhat puzzling, but she may have been willing to help a pair of old friends against that "grove of eagles." At any rate the three towns were unable to accomplish anything further, and could only look on with glum faces while Falmouth went ahead. Greatly to their indignation Charles II., who remembered what good friends the Killigrews had been to him and his father, granted it a charter in 1661. As soon as they thought it would be safe, the Mayor of Truro asserted his claim to jurisdiction over the port and harbour of Falmouth, by sailing round the harbour to the Black Rock.

According to local rhyme, however, the settlers in their new town were not lacking in sturdiness:

"Old Penrynners up in a tree
Looking as wisht as wisht can be,
Falmouth boys as strong as oak
Knocked 'em down at every poke."

So the burgesses of Falmouth took the matter before the courts and succeeded in establishing the claim of their town to a free control over the waters of its harbour.

The General Post Office and Falmouth

In spite of the Killigrews, however, Falmouth remained small and insignificant until the General Post Office chose the port in 1688 as a station for its newly established mail boats. The next few years was the time of its greatest prosperity, and Flushing—the other side of Penryn Creek, and said to be so named from a colony of Dutch merchants—became its fashionable suburb. Travellers came from all parts of England to embark at this port, warships were stationed here, and the wives of naval officers and others made it their home. The stir and bustle of life has, however, departed with the service that created it; and the fine harbour now only rocks on its broad bosom some little cargo steamers and a fleet of fishing-boats. Arwenack House, said by some to have been burnt by Sir Peter Killigrew in order that it should not enable the Parliamentarians under cover of its walls to attack Pendennis, was never rebuilt in its former splendour, and the ground that once constituted its park is now laid out in town plots. Portions of the old building are, however, still to be seen in Arwenack Street.

Penryn

At the head of the creek is Falmouth's ancient rival, the town of Penryn. A Killigrew and his wife—strong men are sometimes gey ill to live with—fell out and the dame, being divorced, sought refuge in Penryn. The Mayor of this place still has in his possession a silver cup and cover given to the borough by this lady. On it is the inscription: "1633.—From Maior to Maior, to the Towne of Penmarin, when they received mee that was in great misery.—Jane Killygrew."

Penryn, still busy at its wharves with the exporting of granite, is the site of Glasney College, where most of the old miracle plays performed at the various plan-an-guares throughout the county were written. But the main industry of the Roseland towns and villages is connected with mines and quarries, the acme of arid desolation and dreariness being reached at Gwennap. The mines there are of great depth, have been worked for centuries, have produced in tin and copper during the last hundred years at least ten million pounds sterling, and are now all abandoned. Imagine the grey wilderness of stone and rubble, of old workings and knacked bals. It rivals the sterility of the Black Country, but that is teeming, while here in very truth is nothing but a littered and abandoned waste.

The Fal

Between Falmouth, which, as Byron said, "contains many quakers and salt fish," and Truro lies the lovely wooded estuary of the Fal. Once navigable to Tregony, large boats can now only go as far as Ruan Lanihorne. At the latter place the river meets the tide. After passing Tregothnan (Lord Falmouth's seat) it joins the St. Clement and Truro Creeks, and finally, after forming by its twists and turns a series of land-locked lakes of surpassing beauty, it broadens into that fine sheet of water which is known as Carrick Roads. The way to see it properly is to hire a suitable row-boat, stock it with provisions, and go up the silent reaches till you discover some flat brown rock. There boil a kettle gipsy-fashion and linger or go on, as the fancy takes you, up this creek or that—they are equally beautiful—and so winding in and out come at last to the capital city.

Queen Victoria, whose footsteps along the south of Cornwall can be traced by various brass plates, was delighted with it. "We went up the Truro, which is beautiful, winding between banks entirely wooded with stunted oak, and full of numberless creeks. The prettiest are King Harry's Ferry and a spot near Tregothnan (i.e., Feock), where there is a beautiful little boat-house."

The Stannary Courts

When Richard, King of the Romans, was created Earl of Cornwall, he, to encourage the working of the mines—which brought him revenue—granted the tinners a charter. By this, except in cases that might affect lands, life, or limb, they were exempt from all jurisdiction but that of the Stannary Courts. No laws were to be enacted but by the twenty-four stannators chosen from the four stannary districts; and there was no appeal from the Stannary Court, generally held at Truro, except to the Duke or Sovereign in Council. These laws were concerned with maintaining the purity of the tin, which was tested by cutting off a coign (corner) and stamping the freshly exposed surface. The towns privileged to perform this and collect the dues payable to the earldom (later duchy) were called "coinage towns." It is said that some of their laws were sufficiently grim, as for instance that which compelled an adulterator of tin to swallow three spoonfuls of the molten metal. The last Stannary Parliament was held at Truro in 1752, the courts being finally abolished in 1897.

Old Truro

Truro was the town in which many of the local gentry spent the winter. This custom of the counties, if it made for insularity rather than a cosmopolitan culture, has given many of our old market-places, round the square of which the commodious homes were built, an air of quiet dignity. The gentry themselves, old people at their cards and supper-parties, young people at their routs and balls, must have found it more enjoyable—all friends and neighbours and very often connections—than the present-day fashion of a dip into the whirlpool of London.

Truro is a cathedral city, with a brand new cathedral, which some have been found able to admire, but about which the note struck is generally apologetic. The old houses are empty, simplicity has become complexity, and the local gentry, those that are left, go up to town "for the season." Yet these changes have taken place within the memory of man, and there are those who can talk of the old state of affairs. Life was even more a matter of compromise then than now. People lived simply and did not exact a high standard of comfort. Not even in Boscawen Street was gas or water laid on, but in the midst thereof was a pump, and thither came the pretty serving lasses to fill their red earthenware pitchers. Monday then, as now, was washing day, and in one godly household of which I wot the maids went early to bed on a Sunday night that as soon as midnight struck they might go forth and bring in enough of the precious fluid to fill tubs and coppers against the morn. It was believed that otherwise what with the competition of all the other maids in Boscawen Street, they would not be able to obtain a sufficiency. In those days sanitary arrangements were of the simplest and healthiest description, and as for baths—well, there was the wooden tub, big, round, and two-handled, the wooden tub and Saturday night!

Foote and Lowry

In households such as this were born Foote, the comedian, in 1721, and Lowry, Cornwall's greatest poet, in 1867. Of the former we have the story that when a wealthy man gave him a very small glass of wine, at the same time boasting of its age and quality, he, glancing at it, remarked, "My lord, surely it is very little for its age?" Of Lowry we have no humorous stories. Cornwall has not produced many great men—some gallant soldiers; in Sir Humphrey Davy a man of science; the painter Opie; and in Lowry, as every one must acknowledge who has read "The Hundred Windows," a poet! It will be a distinct loss to the nation if, in the hurly-burly of modern life, the clear true note of this Cornish singer should be lost.

CHAPTER VIII

St. Mawes and Gerrans

The "free and sworn burgesses" of St. Mawes, numbering about twenty, formerly returned two members to Parliament; now it is a tiny sleepy fishing port with many quiet places of retreat up the winding creeks, the sort of place for a honeymoon couple, "the world forgetting by the world forgot."

According to tradition Gerrans embodies the name of Gerennius, King of Cornwall, of whom the Welsh Bards sang:

"In Llongborth Geraint was slain,
A brave man from the region of Dyvnaint—"

follows a grimly suggestive line:

"And before they were overpowered they committed slaughter."

Near Trewithian is an ancient earthwork called Dingerein, and believed to be Geraint's dwelling-place, the "Dyvnaint" of the song. When he died his body was carried in a golden boat with silver oars across the bay to Pendower beach, and buried with the boat on the hill above, while over it was raised the cairn known as Veryan Beacon. It was believed also that some day he would rise up in his armour and sail away in that glorious boat. This tradition has been found in several places. Men who lived with a vital awe-inspiring king found it difficult to believe that such a flame could be extinguished. He had vanished into the surrounding darkness, but none the less, thought they, he must be somewhere, somewhere whence he could, nay surely would, return. This belief would probably be fostered by his successor. If he were a child or weakling, the people would hesitate to be disloyal, for fear of what would befall them when the mightier father returned.

The great tumulus at Carne was opened in 1855, and within was found a kist-vaen of unhewn stones, covered with limestone boulders; but in the kist were only ashes, pieces of charcoal, and burnt dust. Objects of gold are rarely found in barrows; but in the neighbourhood of the Cheesewring was a persistent story that at some former time a golden cup was actually dug out of a barrow near by. In course of time the tradition was found to be true, and the cup is now in the king's collection.

Tregony and Probus

A little inland from these shores that reverberate with tales of long ago is Tregony, once celebrated for its boys' school, to which the Truro lads went daily in that great Cornish institution, a bus. It is a most ancient place, supposed to have been a Roman station; and when Edward I. gave Parliamentary representation to the country, Tregony was allowed to send two members, and did so in 1294. Many years since, a large stone coffin was dug up near the town, but the measurements given should be received with caution.

Probus, about four miles north-west of Tregony, has a church of exceptional beauty. The tower is of St. Stephen's stone and the highest in Cornwall, being 123 ft. to the top of the pinnacles; it is of elaborate and beautiful workmanship, while there is good sixteenth-century carving in the church and an ancient stone altar mensa. Not far from Probus is Wolveden, generally called Golden. Here Francis Tregian sheltered his chaplain, Cuthbert Mayne, in 1577, the cell in which he was concealed being still in good case, as well as a fine Tudor doorway and chimney piece; but the old chapel, though still standing, is part of the stables. The punishment for sheltering a wandering Catholic priest was heavy. Mayne was discovered and hanged at Launceston, and Tregian was thrown into prison, where he languished for eight and twenty years. And all this miserable waste of life because Henry VIII. chose to think differently to his ancestors on "matters appertaining to religion."

Cornish Mutton

These Roseland parishes, with their undulating heaths and sweet short turf, are famous for their mutton. The meat generally in Cornwall, after the uncertainty over chilled beef and New Zealand lamb in other parts of the country, is an agreeable change. Nor is it dear. For visitors the prices of food have gradually risen, but not very long ago butter was a shilling a pound, mackerel a penny each, milk twopence a quart, and little fat pilchards six—seven—eight a penny!

A Story of Cornish Vengeance

Not far from each other stand the remains of two great manor houses, Caerhayes Castle, demolished in 1808 and rebuilt, and Bodrugan, now a farm, but once, after Stowe the finest house in the county. The lords of these manors took different sides during the disturbances consequent on the Wars of the Roses and, in the end, Henry de Bodrugan was charged by his neighbours—and among them John Arundell of Tolverne—with having robbed their houses and also with various acts of piracy on the high seas. He, however, was hand and glove with Richard Crookback, who, if an awkward enemy, could be a good friend, and Bodrugan's conviction, obtained in his absence, was subsequently quashed. For the time being he escaped the consequence of his misdeeds, but in his triumph he did not forget to whom he owed his tribulation, and before long saw good reason to accuse Sir Richard Edgcumbe of Cotehele, on the Tamar, and his neighbour, Sir Hugh Trevanion of Caerhayes, of plotting to bring about the accession of Henry VII. A word to Richard, and that monarch, who lost no time in such matters, sent soldiers post haste to arrest Edgcumbe. So unexpectedly did they arrive at Cotehele that their prey had to spring out of the nearest window and make for the woods. When he reached the river they were hard on his heels. But he was a man of resource. Snatching off his cap he tossed it into the water, and when the soldiers arrived they saw it floating slowly down the current and came to the conclusion that he was drowned. Trevanion and Edgcumbe hurried off to Henry of Richmond, and no doubt were with him when he landed at Rame Head, a little further east. They distinguished themselves at Bosworth Field, and in the church of St. Michael, Caerhayes, hangs the sword worn that day by Sir Hugh, the sword with which he was made a knight-banneret by the new king.

But Edgcumbe and Trevanion had a private account to settle and, asking leave of absence, they rode west. Sir Henry de Bodrugan, however, was before them. His cause was lost, his master dead, and he knew that there was little mercy to be hoped for from either Edgcumbe or Trevanion. The enemies met on Woful Moor. Bodrugan gave back and back, till at last only the sea lay behind him. Then he turned and leapt—the rock is still shown—and being a strong swimmer was presently picked up by a passing vessel. His lands, with the goodwill of the King, were divided between his vengeful enemies, and the manor itself has been handed down from Edgcumbe to Edgcumbe in uninterrupted succession to this day.

Caerhayes, Goran and the Dodman

It was at Caerhayes that Sir John Berkeley and Colonel Slingsby, who had been sent into Cornwall, during the autumn of 1649, to encourage their friends to rise for Charles II., were surprised by the watchful Roundheads. Lord Byron's grandmother was a Trevanion of Caerhayes, but the castle no longer shelters the descendants of the man who laid its foundation-stone, and if you would see relics of the wild Trevanions you must seek them in the arcade—where hang helmets, swords, and gauntlets—of the little church of St. Michael.

At Goran Church were once monuments to all three families, but those of the Trevanions have disappeared, while the Bodrugans are now only represented by the arms cut on the granite font. This church has a high embattled tower, a good day-mark for ships, and in the chancel a curious oak chair elaborately carved with the figure of a woman.

South of Goran is the Dodman, the pride of the southern coast, a headland which is 400 ft. high and about whose feet the water is so deep that vessels of large draught may sail by within a few feet. It is of dark weathered rocks with a ditch and rampart winch, crossing from one side to the other, cuts it off from the land. The finest beaches on the south stretch right and left from this headland, which gives a good view of the cliffs and fishing coves all up and down the coast from the Rame to the Lizard.

It is curious how frequently two or more places in Cornwall bear the same name. There are two St. Justs, two St. Anthonys, two Mawgans, Constantines, Pentires, while as to Pennare there are several. A Black Head (250 ft.) was the most important promontory between the Lizard and Falmouth, and here, after Chapel Point with its prehistoric remains, Mevagissey with its sardine factory—(All-British shoppers, please note)—and Pentewan with its quarries, the next blue point breaking the northward line is another—and a most bold and precipitous—Black Head!

Mevagissey

Near Mevagissey, locally and opprobriously termed Fishygissey, is Pencarne, seat of the one-handed Carew, whose portrait is in Heligan House. He lost his hand by a cannon-shot at the siege of Ostend (1601) and, returning to his quarters after the fight, held out the lopped member with a casual: "There is the hand that cut the pudding this morning!"

Antiquarian Finds

In this neighbourhood several interesting finds have been made. At Pentewan some curious oaken canoes buried in the soil were found by the tinners. Unaware of the unique nature of what they had discovered, the miners broke them up for firewood! Better luck, however, attended a remarkable and interesting find at Trewhiddle. Some miners, when searching for tin in a stream work, at 17 ft. below the surface, came on a silver cup which proved to be a chalice containing coins and some ornaments. These coins bore date from 757 to 874, and the names of such well-known Kings as Egbert and Alfred, with a unique silver penny of Eanred of Northumbria and a Louis le Debonnaire (King of the Franks 814). It is supposed that the hoard was buried when sea-robbers were harrying the coast, and that he who hid it did not live to come back. It is now in the British Museum.

The Capital of Clayland

Roseland has given place to Clayland, with St. Austell for the capital. This town is not far from the sea. Its narrow crooked thoroughfares radiate in all directions from the old church, over the porch of which is a Cornish inscription, "Ry Du," the meaning of which is unknown. The well-known tower is sculptured and of Pentewan stone. Within is good woodwork, a weirdly carved font, and a series of shields which, if not beautiful as art, are interesting for their symbolism. At St. Austell was born Colenso, the fighting bishop, who having set Christendom by the ears and been excommunicated for heresy was afterwards confirmed in the possession of his see.

The town is of modern origin, owing its existence to the various mines and clayworks in the neighbourhood. The clayman drives his team in single file, and an endless procession of heavy waggons rumbles through the narrow streets, waggons laden with powdered clay in barrels or with the white glistening lumps uncovered. This clay is found in large quantities at Hensbarrow, Burngullow (where the first sod of the Cornwall Railway was cut in 1847), St. Stephen's, and the Bodmin Moors, and is exported from Par, Fowey, and Charlestown. About 1763 Wedgwood leased a mine near St. Austell, using the clay for the manufacture of his well-known porcelain. About 60,000 tons of this material are exported annually to the Potteries and into Lancashire.

The Menagew, a famous old stone said to have been a boundary at the junction of three manors, has been removed from its ancient site—the pity o't!—and fixed in the pavement at the corner of Menacuddle Street, the spot being marked by a brass plate. Lake says: "On this stone all declarations of war and proclamations of peace were read ... all cattle for whom no owner could be found were brought here and exposed for a certain number of market days, after which, if unclaimed, their sale became legal," and there is a hint that in yet earlier days the criminal was brought to this stone for execution and that by the shedding of blood it became set apart and sacred.

Cock's and Hen's Barrow

To the north of St. Austell, and on the highest land in the neighbourhood is the "Hen's Barrow." The latter, which is 1034 ft. above the sea level, is also known as the Archbeacon of Cornwall. From here the whole county can be seen stretched out below, and here are the chief china pits. On its northern slope is a vast mass of schorl, the celebrated Roche Rock. On its summit are the fourteenth-century ruins of a chapel to St. Michael, locally said to have been built by the last male heir of Tregarrick manor, who, weary of the world, lived here in solitude. A little north of Roche and beyond the old half-forgotten holy well is a pool, the water of which may easily be made to flow in different directions—either to Par, Falmouth, or Padstow!

Carglaze Mine

West of Roche is St. Dennis, the church of which stands on a conical hill of granite in the middle of a prehistoric entrenchment. In the churchyard is a fine cross and round it earthworks and tumuli. A great part of the surface in this neighbourhood has been opened for china clay and china stone, but by far the most important mine is that of Carglaze, once worked for tin. The pit of this mine presents a remarkable appearance, for though nearly a mile in circumference it is only 150 ft. deep. It resembles indeed nothing as much as a gigantic crater!

Luxulyan

South of St. Austell and near Porthpean is a granite longstone known as Tregeagle's Stick, another instance of some older story being attached to a recent hero, for the pillar must have been there many hundreds of years before Tregeagle was born. On Gwallen Downs are several earthworks, cairns, holy wells, &c., while Menacuddle boasts a very pretty cascade. This cannot be compared with the one at Luxulyan, which has a fall of 200 ft. That "valley of rocks," a beautiful, picturesque spot, is crossed by the Treffry aqueduct, and lies in a parish of wild land strewn with blocks of granite and porphyry. One of the latter was worked into a sarcophagus for the celebrated Duke of Wellington, while the Giant Block of Luxulyanite is said to be the largest in Europe.

St. Blazey

If St. Austell is the capital of clayland, St. Blazey is second to it as a trading-centre for granite and china clay. Its saint was said to be the patron of woolcombers, though this is probably a mere modern confusion of names. Here was born Ralph Allen, who invented cross country posts and, while obliging his fatherland, managed to enrich himself. Pope, who stayed with him at Prior Park (Bath), describes him somewhat contemptuously:

"Let humble Allen with an awkward shame
Do good by stealth and blush to find it fame."

'Tis true that Allen was the son of a St. Blazey innkeeper, that he had made instead of inheriting his money, but to go down to posterity as "humble" and "awkward!" The first edition is "low-born Allen," but this was altered at the poor man's protest.

The Civil Wars

It is pleasant to leave the china clay with its milky fouling of clear waters and its diseased outcrops, white with the white of leprosy. Crossing Par sands, where Essex watched in vain for the ships laden with his supplies and where, of the old lead smelting works even the chimney known all over the countryside as Par Stack is now gone, the road turns down the coast—past Menabilly with its geological grotto and museum, past Gribben Head set with a day-mark tower some 80 ft. high—and so round the little peninsula into which the Parliamentarian Army was penned by the more active Royalists in 1644, and up to Fowey.

When Charles I. in the August of that year pursued the foolish and shortsighted Essex into Cornwall, the King began by calling together his soldiers and enumerating the services rendered to his cause by the people of the duchy, and he strictly and with divers threats forbade plundering. That for once he meant what he said, was proved a fortnight later by Prince Maurice, who hanged a soldier for plundering Lanhydrock; and that there might be no misunderstanding about the matter, left him with a ticket to that effect pinned on his breast.

Essex, a stupid and inactive man, had come into Cornwall against his better judgment, Lord Robartes having said that the country would rise to join him. Before he got as far as Bodmin he discovered that the contrary was like to be the case; and when the King came sweeping into the duchy and Sir Richard Grenville marched out of Truro, Essex, who was between them, saw the hopelessness of his position. In the midst of a country so hostile that his soldiery had to forage far and wide for grudged provisions, he had nothing upon which to fall back, for some ships loaded with cheese and biscuit which he was daily expecting had not arrived. Essex, who always did the wrong thing or else the right thing too late, cast about at this eleventh hour to keep a passage open for his supplies and, anxious to get nearer the sea, made for Lostwithiel. The immediate result of this movement was that the forces of Grenville and the King presently formed a semicircle about him from shore to shore, and matters went from bad to worse. His soldiers, in need of food and tempted by papers offering a free pardon which the Royalists scattered among them, were daily slipping away to join the King. Having left the eastern side of the harbour unguarded, the forts there, as well as Polruan and Hall House, were soon taken; and this gave Charles the command of the estuary, while on the other side Grenville had secured the little haven of Par, where Essex was hoping his delayed stores would be landed. At this juncture he made a belated effort to help himself and those dependent on him. On the evening of August 31 deserters reported that the Parliamentarian cavalry was drawn up on the east bank of the river. It was evident that Essex was contemplating a move, and orders were issued to the Royalists to stand at arms throughout the night, break down all bridges, and throw baulks of timber across the roads and lanes. Furthermore Goring was bidden collect his cavalry and be in readiness to act on any point at which the enemy might attempt to break through.

Unfortunately, when the King's orders reached Goring he was in no condition to obey them. The night came on dark and foggy. There was a narrow space on St. Winnow's Downs between the two Royalist divisions; but though not covered with troops it was guarded by some fifty fusiliers. These men were—what shall we say? They could scarcely on such a raw night have been asleep and why should they have been absent? At any rate it was over this space that, moving with silent celerity, Sir Wm. Balfour with the whole of the Parliamentarian horse passed unchallenged out on to the open ground. Until a second message from the King reached Goring, he could not be got from his wine. The enemy was then actually passing over the hill, and had it not been for this scandalous behaviour probably not a man would have escaped.

Some days earlier poor old Restormel Castle had been stormed by Grenville, and his forces under cover of a mist had then moved down towards Lostwithiel, but it was reserved for the King to take that ancient town; which he did just in time to prevent the destruction by the retreating Essex of the beautiful bridge.

Although the Parliamentarian General was forced to retire, he did so doggedly, contesting every street and every field, and that night the King slept in the rain under a hedge by the prehistoric earthwork of Castle Dor.

Lostwithiel

On the following morning Essex proposed a parley. Before the King's answer could reach him, however, he had, with a sudden change of front, embarked on one of the ships in Fowey harbour and set sail for Plymouth. Major-General Skippon, who had been left in command, immediately capitulated with six thousand men; and then for once in its long and sleepy existence was Lostwithiel aroused. The Parliamentarians had desecrated the beautiful church; the slates of the roof were lying in heaps where a barrel of gunpowder had been touched off under the graceful octagonal lanthorn of its spire—"the Glory of Cornwall." They had plundered the Exchequer Hall, burnt the stannary records, and committed other enormities; but now the yoke of the oppressor was broken. Tho King did his humane best to protect the soldiers, but the long-suppressed hostility of the mob found vent in a sudden flame of violence, while the women set upon the officers, stripped them of all they had and rode off with their horses!

Lanhydrock House and Restormel Castle

Lanhydrock House being now the property of the King, he, as a mark of his gratitude, granted it to Sir Richard Grenville, whom he created Baron of Lostwithiel; but no sooner did the Parliament get the upper hand than the new-made baron was deprived of his property. The present house is of granite and stands low, the hills springing from the end of the gardens. On them is a little church, and in front an open and undulating park. The headquarters of Essex were in this park, through which a long avenue of sycamores leads to a barbican of fine workmanship, behind which appears the simple façade of the two-storied house. Within, a room is shown as that used by Tregeagle when steward of the estates.

A little south is Restormel Castle. Its long life has been that of a ruin slowly sinking into the earth from which it rose. In 1245 Earl Richard found it much decayed. He restored it; and the Black Prince, who twice stayed there, did the same. When the Parliamentarians came it had long been abandoned to the owls and the ivy, but as it commanded the Fowey they repaired and garrisoned it. After the surrender of their army it was once more abandoned, and now all that remains of the old fortress is the round keep with a gate-house on the west and a projecting turret on the north-east. It is on a mound surrounded by a moat and lies deep in woods and remote from human habitation. Its very name, Restormel (once Lestormel, a chief's dwelling), shows that its builder was a man of note among the people who are gone. It has seen them make merry in its halls, it has seen them pass. It has roused up now and again to groan under the tyranny of new masters; but now, deserted in its robe of ivy, a mound, and a few stones, it sleeps through the sunshine and the rain, and with every year sinks a little and a little into itself and the kind covering earth.

"The old sea here at my door,
The old hills there in the West—
What can a man want more
Till he goes at last to his rest?"

Lowry.

Nor is Lostwithiel much more widely awake. Nowadays it consists of a few rather picturesque streets, an old stone bridge, and a church with a lanthorn spire—the finest piece of church architecture in Cornwall! But it has not forgotten the days when a desperate king, gladdened by a brief gleam of success, fought his way through those same picturesque streets with an enemy that contested every stone and every house. It has not forgotten that he fought from early morning, pushing the stubborn foe before him, until by eventide he had the streets clear, and Lostwithiel, happy loyal Lostwithiel was his.

The Fight on St. Winnow's Downs

Before this came to pass, however, a curious conflict had taken place on St. Winnow's Downs. One hundred Roundheads, youths from sixteen to twenty years of age and led by Colonel Straughan, had challenged a like number of the King's troops to heroic combat on Druid's Hill. On a set day the two bodies of horse met in sight of both armies, Straughan having "nothing on his head but a hat and on the trunk of his body naught but a white shirt"—he was indeed fighting bare-sark—"while his troop consisted of men so young that on their chins never a razor had passed." Lord Digby, the Royalist leader, and his followers advanced firing their pistols as they came, whereupon Straughan and his boys charged furiously, withholding their fire until they were so close that at the deadly discharge half the Royalists were slain on the spot and there was scarce horse or man but received some hurt.

The Church of St. Winnow is beautifully placed on the very margin of this charming estuary, a little before the Lerryn creek opens to the east. Below is the pass between St. Veep and Golant, a pass taken and fortified by the Royalists.

The Gallants of Fowey

The Gallants of Fowey probably means the men of Golant, near Fowey, though various other derivations have been suggested, as for instance the fight between the seafaring men of Rye and Winchelsea and those of Fowey. It appears the latter had sailed somewhat near the aforesaid towns, and when summoned to make civil apology for the intrusion "stiffly refused to vaile their bonnets. This caused the Ripiers to make out with might and main against them; howbeit with a more hardy onset than happy issue, for the Fowey men gave them so rough entertainment as their welcome that they were glad to depart without bidding farewell—the merit of which exploit afterwards entitled them 'gallants of Fowey.'"

This little town, which consists of a single street along the western bank of the estuary and many houses set down higgledy-piggledy wherever room could be found, was once of some consequence. During the reign of Edward III. it sent—assisted, no doubt, by the surrounding country—no less than forty-seven ships manned by seven hundred and seventy men, to the siege of Calais. No other town in England sent so many ships and no town but Yarmouth so many men. The Black Prince, who it must be remembered was the first Duke of Cornwall, granted the people of Golant certain common rights in return for their services, and Fowey grew in pride and consideration. In fact, as the saying is, it grew "too big for its boots," and did more than a little privateering on its own account. When Edward IV. made peace with France, Fowey, which had grown fat on the plunder of foreign merchantmen, continued its hostilities; and in time a pursuivant rode down from London to make inquiry.

"I am at peace with my brother of France," ran the royal message.

"But we are not," was the reply. Furthermore they took the pursuivant, slit his ears and cut off his nose.

It was hardly the way to treat a King of so royal a temper as Edward IV., and Fowey—is it Fowey now or Troy?—suffered. His commissioners did their work treacherously, but they did it well. The chief men were seized, their goods confiscated, and their leader hanged. The great chain which barred the narrow entrance to their harbour and protected them from night attacks was taken away, while the men of Dartmouth were sent by sea to remove their ships. Edward meant to smoke out this nest of freebooters. There could be only one king in England and he would have them recognise it. The savage punishment resulted in the gradual decay of the little cheerful town. Those who had been so greatly daring were dead, and until Henry VIII. built batteries here the place lay at the mercy of any passing marauder. A story interesting for the light it sheds on Queen Elizabeth's character is told of some Spanish ships in 1568. Bound for Alba, in the Netherlands, with a large sum of money, they were chased by privateers and took refuge in Fowey and other ports. The privateers waiting outside till they should reappear, the Spaniards were helpless. After a little hesitation Elizabeth had the treasure seized and the crews arrested. She said that, fearing the audacity of the pirates, she would keep the money safe!

Place

The old fortress mansion of the great family of Treffry is on the opposite side of the harbour. Tradition says that a Treffry took King John prisoner at Poictiers, and as a reward was given permission to quarter on his shield the arms of France. More than once the Treffrys helped to defend Fowey from foreign violence; and their wives were as brave as they. In the grounds of Place House is a statue of Elizabeth Treffry who, in the absence of her husband, July 1457, headed his men and beat off the French.

On the shore at Polruan is a ruinous blockhouse, from which the chain that guarded Fowey Harbour was once stretched across the estuary to a similar building on the other side. Here is Hall, the ancient seat of the Mohuns, and while Charles I. was walking on the terrace he narrowly escaped being struck by a ball from the guns of Lord Essex. The chapel and guardhouse are still standing, but the former is used as a cowhouse.

Lanteglos: Polperro

The church of Lanteglos, consisting as it does of the work of so many periods, is exceptionally interesting to the student of architecture. The tower opens into the church by three massive arches, the western corner of the piers being Norman; the nave arcades are of the fourteenth century, the northern slightly earlier than the southern. The four deeply recessed windows in the north with their elaborate tracery are recognised by architects as resembling those of Somerset, which is probably accounted for by the fact that this church was appropriated in 1284 to St. John's Hospital at Bridgwater. Between Lansallos Church, with its lofty tower (514 ft. above the sea), a well-known seamark, and Talland Church, which is full of rich and beautiful work lies Polperro (Pool of Peter) in a cove at the foot of two high hills. This little place is the southern duplicate of Port Isaac, but its air is milder—less bracing—than that of the grey northern town. The houses cluster thickly at the mouth of a cleft between the hills and the storms are so terrible that although three piers protect the little harbour, heavy baulks of timber have often to be let down into grooves, to break the force of the waves. The Couch family have lived at Polperro during several generations, the father and grandfather of the novelist having been doctors there.

It is said that the first station of the Coastguard Preventive Service was at Polperro, a statement which "gives furiously to think." The welcome Cornwall gave to the Parliamentarian generals must have been genial compared with that extended to the preventive officers. Coastguards in Cornwall, the home of wreckers and smugglers! No doubt they had an exhilarating time!

Talland, Killigarth and Trelawne

There are three houses in this neighbourhood about which stories are told. The manor of Talland formerly belonged to the Morths, and one of this family employed a French servant. Mr. Morth does not seem to have given his servant satisfaction, for the man returned home, and when war broke out "returneth back again with a French crew, surprizeth suddenly his master and his guests at a Xmas supper, and forceth the gentleman to redeem his enlargement with the sale of a great part of his revenues" (Carew). It is not often that the tables can be so neatly turned.

Killigarth belonged to the Bevilles, and in the sixteenth century, one Sir William going forth from his own house on a winter's day, found under a hedge a certain John Size nearly dead with cold. He took him into his service and found that he had gotten a remarkable sort of servant, for Size "would eat nettles and thistles, coals and candles, birds with their feathers, and fish with their scales. He could handle, unhurt, blazing wood and hot iron, and used to lie asleep with his head curled under his body" (Carew).

The Trelawnys of Trelawne originally came from another place of the same name, further inland. Among the pictures at this house—parts of which are old—is an early one of Elizabeth, interesting on account of the queen's youth.

John Trelawny, father of the celebrated Jonathan, Bishop of Bristol, was committed to the Tower in 1627 by the House of Commons. As he was popular in the county the Cornish were greatly exercised, and it is said that the old ballad sung riotously by his compatriots:

"And shall Trelawny die?
Here's twenty thousand Cornishmen
Will know the reason why—"

was instrumental in procuring his release. Be that as it may, he was set free by order of the King and shortly after made a baronet. The ballad composed for the misfortunes of the father survived to be made of use when his son, one of the seven bishops who presented the petition to James II., was imprisoned and tried for seditious libel by that most worthless of the Stuarts. The verses were subsequently lost, the Rev. Robert Hawker, always ready to make good any little deficiency of the kind having composed the present version.

The Giant's Hedge

A model of Bishop Trelawny's pastoral staff, made of gilt wood with ornaments of copper, is preserved in Pelynt Church, where he was buried; but the most interesting thing in this neighbourhood, as well as the most puzzling, is that great earthwork the Giant's Hedge, which, stretching from Lerrin to Looe, a matter of seven miles, passes through this parish.

"One day the devil having nothing to do
Built a great hedge from Lerrin to Looe."

There is no evidence to say by whom this earthwork, which in parts is 7 ft. high and 20 ft. wide, was built. Once more let us pray for a Passmore Edwards to supply us with this evidence—by judicious excavation.

Boconnoc

By way of Lanreath Church with its painted mediæval rood screen we come to the manor of Boconnoc. This house has seen a succession of noble owners and some interesting visitors. Charles I. spent nearly the whole of the cold and rainy August during which he was in Cornwall under its hospitable roof, and Pitt, Governor of Madras, purchased the place with part of the proceeds of the "Pitt" diamond. The wing in which the King slept was pulled down by Pitt; and the house, which is built on rising ground in a lawn of a hundred acres, remodelled. It was here that his son, the famous statesman, was born. An obelisk has been set up in the midst of the entrenchments made during the Civil Wars—a piece of curious taste, as the man commemorated by it had nothing to do with either king or parliament, living indeed long after both were dust!

Between this obelisk and Bradock Church was fought the battle of Bradock Downs. The Royalists who had marched from Bodmin slept all night under the hedges in Boconnoc Park. Next morning, January 19, 1643, they found the Parliamentarians awaiting them on the rising ground of the common. After keeping up a fire of small arms for some two hours, the Royalists were led forward by Sir Beville Grenville in one of his dashing charges. Their opponents broke and ran, fleeing to Liskeard with great loss of arms and men. Their stay there, however, was but brief, for the Cavaliers pursued them—across the downs, by the main road, and by St. Pinnoc—and so took the town without a blow.

CHAPTER IX