The Cornwall Coast Part 2

As yet its fame is hardly more than local.

South of Black Head, an eminence of about 150 feet, is the little port of Pentewan, noted for its elvan building stone, which is s.h.i.+pped, together with some china-clay, from its excellent small harbour.

Pentewan stone has a good name for hardness and durability; its qualities are well shown in the tower of St. Austell Church. In the tin works here, carried on at some depth below sea-level, were found horns of the Irish elk, not petrified, but completely metallised by the tin ore; also definite traces of buried forest. It is said also that some curious oaken canoes were discovered in the soil, but were, unfortunately, destroyed for firewood by the tinners. It is hard to estimate how many valuable antiquities have been similarly destroyed by carelessness and ignorance; but such ruin has been more often suffered by stone monuments, longstones, kistvaens, s.n.a.t.c.hed for use as gate-posts and walls by heedless farmers and builders.

About two miles inland from Pentewan is Heligan, a very fine estate, whose gardens display rare subtropical vegetation. Such vegetation is rather a boasted feature in southern and western Cornwall, and is, of course, interesting as a kind of _tour-de-force_, showing what the British climate at its best can do. Apart from this use, however, it may seem to some of us that such efforts are easily overdone; the native beauty of an English garden or woodland has infinitely more appeal, more freshness, more loveliness, than any grandeurs of the exotic. The glories of Kew Gardens have their charm, their utility, their educational value; but tropical growths are really as much out of place in an English landscape as a Moorish palace or a Buddhist temple would be. All who know anything of landscape gardening know that it has been a fertile field for the growth and exemplification of false taste. Yet the plea of botanical interest, educational use, may be added to the attraction of rarity as a defence of all such cultivations as we find not only at Heligan and Mount Edgc.u.mbe, but at Morrab Gardens and Tresco. Those of us who dislike them can keep away.

But Heligan has a reputation also for genuine English beauty. The old mill here has been a favourite with many artists, and has become familiar in many an exhibition-room. At Lanshadron, close by, is a mutilated cross, which is perhaps unique in having an inscription around its base; the inscription being Latin. Heligan is in the parish of St. Ewe, which is usually supposed to be a dedication to St.

Eustachius; but non-Celtic saints are almost as much out of place in Cornwall as exotic plants are, and St. Ewe was probably some forgotten British or Welsh missionary. A former clergyman of this parish appears to have been notable as a healer of bodies as well of souls. We read of him that "Martin Atwell, parson of St. Ewe about 1600, was a physician of body as well as soul: now and then he used blood-letting or bleeding, and administered Marius Christi and other like cordials, yet mostly for all diseases he prescribed milk, and very often milk and apples, and recovered sundry out of desperate and forlorn extremities: his liberality was very great, his affection for religion sound, and he turned out with both hands _in pios usus_." Certainly a most enlightened man for his time, and if we could only add that he recommended the milk to be sour we should have brought his modernity to the highest point.

Mevagissey, about six miles south-west of St. Austell, was once one of the most flouris.h.i.+ng fis.h.i.+ng-ports on the Cornish coast, and though it has not quite maintained its relative position, it is not done with yet. The town can also boast some fame as the Aberalva of Kingsley's _Two Years Ago_, a book once far more popular than it is to-day. The same claim has been made for Clovelly; but though some features in the novelist's description may be applied equally to both, there are other points that can only be attributed to Mevagissey. Kingsley, who wrote the book fifty years since, says: "Between two ridges of high pebble bank some twenty yards apart, comes Alva River rus.h.i.+ng to the sea. On the opposite ridge, a low white house, with three or four white canvas-covered boats and a flagstaff with sloping crossyard, betokens the coastguard station. Beyond it rise black jagged cliffs; mile after mile of iron-bound wall: and here and there, at the glens' mouths, great banks and denes of s.h.i.+fting sand.... Above, a green down stretches up to bright yellow furze-crofts far aloft. Behind, a reedy marsh, covered with red cattle, paves the valley till it closes in; the steep sides of the hill are clothed in oak and ash covert....

Pleasant little glimpses there are, too, of gray stone farmhouses, nestling among sycamore and beech; bright green meadows, alder-fringed; squares of rich fallow-field, parted by lines of golden furze; all cut out with a peculiar blackness and clearness, soft and tender withal, which betokens a climate surcharged with rain. Only, in the very bosom of the valley, a soft mist hangs, increasing the sense of distance, and softening back one hill and wood behind another, till the great brown moor which backs it all seems to rise out of the empty air. For a thousand feet it ranges up, in huge sheets of brown heather, in gray cairns and screes of granite, all sharp and black-edged against the pale blue sky." The description of the town itself that follows might apply tolerably well to a number of such fis.h.i.+ng-ports in the West Country; but Kingsley is most clearly not speaking of Clovelly, and he introduces Cornish names. That corner of North Devon must be content with figuring in _Westward-Ho!_ and not claim _Two Years Ago_. There was the cholera also, which was a very terrible reality at Mevagissey in 1849, and which did its good work as well as its evil, by causing the place to be thoroughly cleansed. The truly Cornish name of the town derives from a double dedication to the Saints Meven (or Mewan) and Issey; St. Mewan being a Welsh saint, and St. Issey probably an Irishman. The place has won, and deserved, the nickname of Fishygissey, but there is none the less a real charm about it; its distance from the railway, however inconvenient for visitors, brings compensations that many can appreciate. The pier dates from 1770, but the harbour is much more recent. A fine and costly harbour constructed about 1890 was destroyed in the following year by the great blizzard, which is distinctly "_the_ storm" in the West of England; the present quays were built in 1897. At one time more pilchards were taken here than at any other spot, but the pilchard is a fickle fish, and has no consideration beyond the choice of feeding-grounds; if better satisfied elsewhere, no sentiment interferes with its migrations. But there are still a good many pilchards taken off Mevagissey, and these are largely cured here--many under their own name, but a large number find their way to the factory of the Cornish Sardine Company established in the town. It has often been debated whether pilchards and sardines are one and the same; Mr.

Aflalo says they are identical. It is certain that many so-called sardines are pilchards--and some are sprats. Differences in size may be accounted for by the fact that Cornish nets have often a rather large mesh, and the smaller fish are not taken. Many such nets are made at Mevagissey. The seine, or sean-net, was that commonly used here when the pilchard schools came nearer, but is now almost abandoned for the drift-net; we shall find seines still common further west. The seine may be described as a wall of netting, buoyed at the surface and weighted below; this is dipped in the thick of the shoal, its ends drawn together, and the fish taken out with a tuck-net. The leaded bottom of the net must touch the ground or the fish will escape; thus seine-fis.h.i.+ng is only practicable in shallow waters. With it is a.s.sociated the occupation of the "huers," who are stationed on the look-out above the sh.o.r.e, and who signal the arrival of the schools, easily seen in the daylight. But this method is now abandoned at Mevagissey, where the fishermen go farther from port, sailing to meet the schools in open sea instead of waiting close to sh.o.r.e for them. In many details their drift-fis.h.i.+ng differs from the seine. The nets are long and deep, with a fairly large mesh: the object being for the fish to become entangled as in a trap, into which they swim blindly. A dark night is the most favourable; the drift-fishers start from port about sunset, and are often back with their catch long before dawn. The fish, indeed, are frequently caught, brought ash.o.r.e, and sold before daybreak; some are taken off by hawkers to be sold at farms and cottages about the country-side, while others go at once to the curers, or are pressed for export. Of course, mackerel and other fish are caught, often in considerable quant.i.ty, but the distinctive Cornish fish is the pilchard, and the pilchard has had most to do with the prosperity of Cornish fis.h.i.+ng-ports. Unless cooked by the initiated, however, who get rid of the superfluous oil, the fresh pilchard is a very bilious article of diet, and the visitor must be wary.

In Mevagissey Church there is a curious old font, probably Norman in date as it is in appearance. The tower of this church was removed for some reason, perhaps because it was out of repair; and it was slyly reported in the neighbourhood that the townsfolk had sold their bells to pay for the removal of their tower. Cornish parishes are fond of these jibes against each other. Penwarne, the seat of "One-handed Carew," is in this parish; he lost his hand at the siege of Ostend in 1601, and returning after the fight, he presented the amputated limb to his hostess, remarking "This is the hand that cut the pudding to-day." A little south is the fis.h.i.+ng hamlet of Portmellin; and just beyond Chapel and Turbot Points reach out into the Channel. There are remains of entrenchment on the headlands, and a little inland the farm of Bodrigan perpetuates the name of an old Cornish family, once of power and reputation. The waste known as Woful Moor, and the rock on the coast named Bodrigan's Leap, both have a tale to tell in relation with the ruin of this ancient family. It seems that in the days of Richard III. Sir Henry Bodrigan was engaged in a fierce feud with the leaders of the Edgc.u.mbe and Trevanion families, and in the hour of his prosperity he pressed them hardly. When the day of adversity came and he was attainted by the newly crowned Henry Tudor, Bodrigan's enemies turned on him with vindictive zeal. Driven to bay, the desperate Bodrigan met them in a last conflict on Woful Moor, so named to commemorate his sorrow, and was so hotly pressed that he was compelled to leap from the sh.o.r.e, at the spot still known as his "leap." The drop was of a hundred feet, but he escaped without injury and was picked up by a vessel that lay beneath. His later story is not told; but Gilbert says that "he seems to have perished in exile. His property was divided between the two families opposed to him, and, after the lapse of three hundred and fifty years, continues to form a large portion of their respective possessions." But much water has pa.s.sed by Black Head since Gilbert wrote.

There is a recollection of Bodrigan at Gorran Haven, where he is said to have built the old pier; this was rebuilt in 1888. Gorran Haven is a most attractive little fis.h.i.+ng-village, and may have a future before it as a watering-place; at present it only draws the quietest of visitors. The beach is excellent, pleasantly diversified with crags; and there is a small outlying ma.s.s of rock known as the Guineas or Gwinges, round which a rough sea breaks finely. There is a daughter chapel here, late Tudor, dating from about 1450 and restored in 1885; while the mother-church of St. Gorran at the church-town has a pinnacled tower of 110 feet in height (late Perpendicular) with six bells. This was renovated in 1896. There are some good initialled bench-ends in the church. It is a district of grain culture. Gorran men were rather made a b.u.t.t of by their neighbours in the old days; they "tried to throw the moon over the cliffs," and they "built a hedge to keep in the moonlight." Such parochial witticisms may be laughed at to-day, but they often provided a stinging grievance in the past and were a handy weapon in neighbourly feuds. They were by no means limited to Cornwall, though the Duchy was very plentifully supplied. The typical instance in England is that of the unfortunate men of Gotham, whom it is amusing to find old Ray seriously defending in his _Proverbs_, where he says that "as for Gotham, it doth breed as wise people as any which causelessly laugh at their simplicity. Sure I am, Mr. William de Goteham, fifth Master of Michael House in Cambridge, 1336, and twice Chancellor of the University, was as grave a governour as that age did afford." All which may be very true; and doubtless the men of Gorran were no more simple than their decriers.

Doubtless also they had a payment for all compliments. The local dedication seems to be to the Gorran or Goron who surrendered his cell at Bodmin to St. Petrock, perhaps because he recognised a better man.

The coast around Gorran is very grand, and reaches its culmination in Dodman Point, sometimes called the Deadman, which rises to about 370 feet. The cliff has a sheer drop to the water, which is here deep, so that large vessels can pa.s.s close insh.o.r.e. The local saying linking Dodman with Rame Head has already been quoted; and it is a.s.serted that Dodman and Rame really did meet when they both came into possession of Sir Piers Edgc.u.mbe. This bare, gaunt headland has proved disastrous to s.h.i.+pping, and some will recollect that two torpedo-destroyers, the _Thresher_ and the _Lynx_ collided with the rock here in a fog, several lives being lost through the resultant explosion. This point is the eastern gateway of Veryan Bay; in the heart of which bay lies the very small parish of St. Michael Caerhayes, or Carhays. The parish is inseparably connected with the old Cornish family of Trevanion, one of which family, Sir John, fell at the siege of Bristol in the Civil War, and left his name to the sad commemorative couplet in which Cornwall recorded those by whose lives she had to pay for their glory:--

"The four wheels of Charles's Wain, Grenville, G.o.dolphin, Trevanion, Slanning, slain."

The list was not exhaustive. Speaking of Trevanion and Slanning, Clarendon says: "They were the life and soul of the Cornish Regiment; both young, neither of them above 28; of entire friends.h.i.+p to each other, and to Sir Bevil Grenville, whose body was not yet buried." It would be a poor thing if the horrors of war did not sometimes allow us such glimpses of heroic friends.h.i.+p and valour. In the church of St.

Michael's are hanging many weapons that once belonged to Trevanions, including the sword said to have been worn at the field of Bosworth by Sir Hugh, who was knighted after the battle by the conquering Richmond. There is a doorway supposed to be Saxon in this church. The present Caerhayes House, beautifully situated at the head of Porthluney Cove, is the successor of the old Trevanion mansion, and was built about a century since by Nash, the architect of Buckingham Palace and Regent Street. For the sake of contrast, it is interesting to remember that the Brighton Pavilion was also Nash's work; and thus the mind can wander from this peaceful Cornish cove to that most populous of British watering-places. At Portholland is a small hamlet wedged into a tiny cleft, where those who desire the uttermost quietude might be satisfied; westward along the coast is the slightly larger fis.h.i.+ng village of Portloe. This is in the parish of Veryan, one of the "Roseland" parishes whose name has really nothing to do with roses. Roseland, formerly Rosinis (_Roz-innis_, "moorland" or "heath island"), was in its origin a very early designation of this strip of land lying between Veryan Bay and the Fal; and we find the same original in the Rosen Cliff, just above Nare Head.

Nare Head, a fine bluff of rock, is the southward point of Veryan parish and the western extremity of Veryan Bay. There is some memory of Tregeagle around this headland, but his tale belongs more fully to Dozmare Pool on the Bodmin Moors and to the Land's End district. More immediately concerning us is the story of Geraint--at least of one of the rather numerous Cornish princes bearing that name--which is a.s.sociated with Gerrans Bay and Dingerrein, now opening upon us, and with the great barrow of Carne Beacon. Perhaps Geraint, Latinised as Gerennius and sometimes as Gerontios, was simply a t.i.tle of chieftains.h.i.+p or kings.h.i.+p; it is certain that the name was applied to more than one British chieftain, though since Tennyson's Idylls there has been only one Geraint in the mind of the general reader. Gerrans Bay, of course, embodies the name, and so do the remains of the entrenchment or camp at Dingerrein. It is possible that he whose name thus survives was truly the Arthurian champion; we may certainly give him the benefit of the doubt, and believe that this was the Geraint who married the sweet Enid, who tested her faith so harshly, and who died at Llongborth (probably Langport in Somerset) about the year 522.

He is claimed by the Welsh bards as one of their heroes, and there can be no historic objection to such a claim. Llywarch Hen sang of his death--

"In Llongborth Geraint was slain, A brave man from the region of Dyvnaint, And before they were overpowered they committed slaughter."

Tennyson's version of the legend is mainly taken from the Mabinogion.

We usually think of this Geraint, son of Erbin, as a fighter, but in Cornwall he appears as a saint and the father of saints; both characters, indeed, have been united in the same person, before and since. Geraint is claimed as the founder of Gerrans, as well as of St.

Geran in Brittany; and Dingerrein is supposed to have been his residence, while Carn Beacon was his tomb. The last supposition is the most dubious. There is a traditional rumour that he was driven from Wales by Teutonic invaders, that he settled here near Veryan and built this stronghold, that he embraced religion and resigned his rule to his son, and died a holy man. If we accept this tale we must decide that it was another Geraint who fell fighting at Langport. The Book of Llandaff tells us that the great St. Teilo visited Geraint while on his way to Brittany, and that he hastened back from the Continent in time to administer viatic.u.m to his dying friend, bringing a stone coffin for the burial with him. Tradition further says that the dead chieftain was buried with his golden boat and silver oars in which he had been wont to row himself. The place of burial was Carn Beacon, and there was long an expectation that these treasures would be discovered if the barrow was opened. This was done about half a century since, but the kistvaen that was found only contained some prehistoric ashes, of far earlier date than Geraint; the gold boat and silver oars were not visible. The remains were replaced and the excavation closed.

There was a later Geraint who fought against the Saxon Ina in 710. But it is almost more difficult to identify these Geraints than it is to attain any cert.i.tude about King Arthur himself.

Gerrans is close to one of the lovely creeks that run inland from Falmouth Harbour. On the coast is the little settlement of Porthscatho, which is undergoing the transformation so common in Cornwall, from fis.h.i.+ng-village to watering-place. The artists came first, and then the tourists. The charm of the place, with its whitewashed houses and grey slate roofs, has not yet been destroyed; and Porthscatho is still a delightful haunt. Southward is Zose Point, or St. Anthony's Head, so called from the parish of St.

Anthony-in-Roseland, with its beautiful restored Early English church.

The Norman doorway and lighted steeple are noteworthy. Close by is Place Houses (Places are common in Cornwall), a mansion erected by Admiral Spry on the site of a priory founded by Athelstan, belonging later to the monks of Plympton. There is a lighthouse, as well as a prehistoric castle, on Zose Point, the light visible for fourteen miles, and a valuable guide to vessels making Falmouth. This St.

Anthony Headland dominates St. Mawes Harbour, Falmouth Bay, and the mouth of the Carrick Roads; the view is even more magnificent than that from Plymouth Hoe or Staddon Heights.

CHAPTER V

FALMOUTH AND TRURO

About a century since Lord Byron was at Falmouth, waiting a favourable wind that would enable the sailing of the Lisbon packet. He seems to have been detained here about a week, during which time he made characteristic observations and embodied them in a letter to his friend Hodgson. With some sportive malice there was evidently a spice of truth in his remarks. He tells his friend that Falmouth "is defended on the sea side by two castles, St. Maws and Pendennis, extremely well calculated for annoying everybody except an enemy. St.

Maws is garrisoned by an able-bodied person of fourscore, a widower.

He has the whole command and sole management of six most unmanageable pieces of ordnance, admirably adapted for the destruction of Pendennis, a like tower of strength on the opposite side of the channel. We have seen St. Maws, but Pendennis they will not let us behold, because Hobhouse and I are suspected of having already taken St. Maws by a _coup-de-main_. The town contains many quakers and salt fish--the oysters have a taste of copper, owing to the soil of a mining country; the women (blessed be the Corporation therefor!) are flogged at the cart's tail when they pick and steal, as happened to one of the fair s.e.x yesterday noon. She was pertinacious in her behaviour, and d.a.m.ned the mayor." One might have expected that he would at least have had a word for the town's beauty of position and for its magnificent harbour; but such things were features that he usually ignored in his letters, and his avoidance of the poetical always amounted to an affectation. Defoe, who had been here about eighty years earlier, found something to say about the harbour as being, "next to Milford Haven, the fairest and best road for s.h.i.+pping that is in the whole isle of Britain." Of Falmouth itself he says that "it is by much the richest and best trading town in this county, though not so ancient as its neighbour town of Truro." Truro might have the honour, but "Falmouth has gotten the trade." He says further that "Falmouth is well built, has abundance of s.h.i.+pping, is full of rich merchants, and has a flouris.h.i.+ng and increasing trade. I say 'increasing,' because by the late setting up the English packets between this port and Lisbon, there is a new commerce between Portugal and this town carried on to a very great value." The origin of this trading, he suggests, was very much a.s.sisted by a species of export-smuggling, whereby British manufactures were carried from England to Portugal without paying custom at either end. But the custom-house soon put an end to this, or at least greatly modified it.

Among other notable visitors it is interesting to remember that Disraeli was here in his younger days, in 1830, detained before starting on his own somewhat Byronic voyage to the Mediterranean; he found the town "one of the most charming places I ever saw." In days when Falmouth was a port-of-call for nearly every outward-bound vessel, many another distinguished traveller must have put in here and explored the town while the s.h.i.+p waited its sailing orders; but it must be confessed that the records of such visits are rather scanty, and the literary or other a.s.sociations of Falmouth are not of the richest. There are some, however, that claim a mention; and although Falmouth as a town can boast of no antiquity, yet this n.o.ble estuary of the Fal lies in a centre that must have witnessed many remarkable scenes forgotten by history, and as early as man began to trust himself to the waters its harbourage must have had a profound value and significance.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ON THE RIVER FAL.

_Photo by Gibson & Sons._]

Long before men had begun to speak of Falmouth, except by applying that name to the estuary of the river, the headland on the western side of the river-mouth was known as Pendinas, now Pendennis; it was evidently entrenched, for its Celtic name means the "headland fortress." There was a settlement at Penmerryn, or Penmarin, now Penryn; and the spot on which Falmouth stands appears to have been known as _Pen-y-cwm_, the "head of the valley," to which the syllable _quic_ was added, thus forming the familiar Penny-come-quick, for which it has been easy to find a plausible but erroneous derivation.

If this _quic_ is merely a corruption of _wick_, meaning dwelling or village, it would be obvious that Saxon influence had been at work here, as in the other old name for Falmouth, Smithic or Smethic, interpreted as Smith-wick. But we know very little with certainty about the place until the Arwenack manor was acquired by the Killigrews, through marriage with its heiress, which seems to have been somewhere about 1385, though some of the rather confused records tend to show that the Killigrews had connection with Arwenack earlier than this. The family came from Killigrew, meaning a "grove of eagles," in the parish of St. Erme, and they had everything to do with the founding and prosperity of early Falmouth, championing it against the rival claims and animosity of Penryn and Truro. There has been some attempt to prove that Gyllyngvase, which is the present Falmouth bathing-place, was the scene of the burial of Prince William, son of Henry I., who was drowned off Barfleur, to his father's lasting sorrow; the supposition being that Gyllyng was a corruption of William. This seems purely imaginary; there is nothing to show that William's body was ever recovered, and if it had been brought to England his father would certainly not have let it be buried in this far-distant and lonely spot. We must probably go to the Celtic for the derivation of Gyllyngvase. One of the Killigrews erected a fort on Pendinas, which, under the sanction or by the command of Henry VIII., was expanded into Pendennis Castle, which it is said that king visited. In 1552, on his return from the expedition to Guiana, Sir Walter Raleigh was entertained at Arwenack, and was much struck by the fine naval capabilities of Falmouth Harbour, laying the matter before James I., and gaining that monarch's countenance for the Killigrews'

views for the furtherance of Falmouth in spite of the opposition of its neighbours.

During the Civil War Pendennis Castle was held for the King by its aged and gallant governor, John Arundel, and it afforded brief shelter both to the fugitive Charles II. and to his mother, the Queen Henrietta Maria. The Sheriff of Cornwall, who saw her at this time, described her as "the woefullest spectacle my eyes ever yet look'd on; the most worne and weake pitifull creature in the world, the poore Queene s.h.i.+fting for one hour's liffe longer." She escaped to France, adverse winds preventing her capture by the Parliamentary fleet. It was in the following year that the young King took refuge at Pendennis, before he sought an asylum at Scilly; the approach of Fairfax warned him to fly in time. Then followed one of the most strenuous sieges of the war, John Arundel, "John for the King,"

defending the place for about six months, and only surrendering on honourable terms, when there was only one salted horse left as provision. This brave old defender was in his eighty-seventh year. Two hundred sick persons were left behind when the garrison marched out, under the stipulation that none of them should be compelled thereafter to fight against their king; and it is said that many died from eating too heartily after their prolonged famine. Lord Clarendon tells us that "the castle refused all summons, admitting no treaty, till they had not victual for twenty-four hours, when they carried on the treaty with such firmness that their situation was never suspected, and they obtained as good terms as any garrison in England." Pendennis was the last stronghold, with the exception of Raglan, to hold out for the Royalist cause; and it was fitting that this most gallant defence and dignified surrender should be placed to the credit of loyal Cornwall.

It tallies with the brave struggle of the previous century, on behalf of the old faith and the old tongue. We may not wish that either struggle had terminated differently, but they were both in keeping with the tenacious character of the Cornish people. As a striking proof of their desperate resolution, the defenders of Pendennis themselves fired the manor-house of Arwenack, in order that it might not be occupied by the Parliamentary troops, and these had to be content with such trenches and defences as they could contrive from the ruins. The mansion was never suitably restored, and there are only a few relics of it to be seen at the present day in Arwenack Street.

Its beautiful avenue became a rope-walk, and the site of its park is covered with buildings. Charles II. was not specially notable for remembering those who had a.s.sisted him in the day of his trouble--indeed, there were a great many for him to remember; but it is pleasant to know that the son of the defender of Pendennis was created a peer at the Restoration, while one of the Killigrews became a baronet, and a charter of incorporation was granted to the infant town. It was enacted that the settlements. .h.i.therto known as "Smithike and Penny-come-quick" should become a corporate town under the name of Falmouth. Sir Peter Killigrew had already obtained from the Commonwealth a patent for a weekly market and two fairs, together with the rights of ferry to Flus.h.i.+ng; and the custom-house had been removed to Falmouth from Penryn. In 1661 a quay was authorised, and two years later a church was erected, with a dedication to King Charles the Martyr. However incongruous such a dedication may now seem, it had great significance at the time. By dint of effort, also, Falmouth was created a distinct parish, freed from St. Budock and St. Gluvias. All these steps were taken in face of much opposition, and against the influence of Robartes, Arundels, and G.o.dolphins, who supported Truro, Helston, and Penryn in pet.i.tioning that "the erecting of a town at Smithike would tend to the ruin and impoveris.h.i.+ng of the ancient coinage towns and market-towns aforesaid, not far distant from thence; and they therefore humbly prayed the King's Majesty that the buildings and undertakings of Mr. Killigrew might be inhibited for the future."

Such had been an earlier pet.i.tion to James I., and the same spirit of opposition pursued every development of the young town. Strife and litigation pursued the Killigrews unremittingly, until the extinction of the family in the direct line, somewhere about the middle of the eighteenth century. There is one great literary glory attaching to them. It was to Mistress Anne Killigrew that Dryden wrote his n.o.ble elegiac ode, which Dr. Johnson thought the finest in the language.

With the dignity and melody that distinguished Dryden at his best, he apostrophises the lady as one who had herself courted the muses of poetry and painting--

"Hear then a mortal Muse thy praise rehea.r.s.e In no ign.o.ble verse, But such as thy own voice did practise here, When thy first fruits of poesy were given, To make thyself a welcome inmate there; While yet a young probationer And candidate of heaven."

The ode was addressed to Anne, daughter of Dr. Henry Killigrew, born in 1660, who died of smallpox in 1685; she was a Maid-of-Honour to the d.u.c.h.ess of York. A volume of her poems appeared in the following year, with Dryden's ode as an introduction. In painting she seems to have done portraits of James II. and his queen. She was buried at St.

John the Baptist, Savoy. It is Dryden's verse, and not her own, that has immortalised her.

There is no need to follow in detail the somewhat unexciting tale of Falmouth's growth. Its one event of national moment was the selection of the port, in 1688, for the sailings of the Mail Packet service, which proved to be of immediate consequence both to Falmouth and Flus.h.i.+ng, as the families of captains and crews soon chose one or other of those places for residence, thereby bringing prosperity and a keen rivalry. The story of the packets is very notable, and has been worthily told by Mr. A. H. Norway. We may a.s.sume that it was one of Mr. Norway's ancestors who lost his life while gallantly defending his packet, the _Montague_, from the attack of an American privateer. At first only three packets sailed, between Falmouth and Lisbon; but the service soon extended to the West Indies, America, Barbadoes, and elsewhere. They were not only a fine training-school for seamen, but were in some sense an auxiliary to the British navy, frequently coming in close contact with the King's enemies or with privateers, in which conflicts they generally rendered a good account of themselves. They seem at first to have been supplied for the use of the General Post Office by contract, and sometimes belonged to their captains or to companies of private shareholders; but about the year 1820 they were taken over by the Admiralty, with the idea that a stricter discipline was needed. The greatest days of the packets were before this transference, and their diminis.h.i.+ng splendour terminated entirely in 1850, when the port ceased to be a packet station, the mails having been taken in charge by ocean liners. Plymouth has succeeded to the position that once was Falmouth's. It is no exaggeration to say that some of the actions of the packets and their dauntless crews recall the palmy days of Elizabethan naval prowess and exploits such as that of the immortal _Revenge_. The very name of the hero of that great adventure was perpetuated by one of the packets, which accomplished something worthy of his fine tradition. It is told by Gilbert how "in the year of 1777 Captain William Kempthorne was opposed off the island of Barbadoes in H.M. Packet _Granville_ to three American privateers, two of whom were each of equal force to the _Granville_, and lay alongside her in a raking position. After a desperate action, in which the captain received a severe wound in the head and lost the roof of his mouth, the enemy was compelled to sheer off, and the _Granville_ with her brave commander returned safe to England." This is only one example among many. It is said that within the three years, 1812-14, "thirty-two actions were fought between Falmouth packets and privateers, which resulted in seventeen victories for the Cornish against superior numbers of men and guns, while the remaining contests, in which also great numbers lost their lives, were in respect to valour, as glorious." One of these grand struggles may be best told in Mr. Norway's words:--

"On November 22, 1812, the _Townshend_ packet, armed with eight 9-pounder carronades, a long gun of similar calibre for use as a chaser, and a crew of twenty-eight men and boys under the command of Captain James c.o.c.k, was within a few hours of dropping her anchor at Bridgetown, Barbadoes, when the first light of morning revealed two strange vessels cruising at no great distance. These vessels proved to be American privateers, the _Tom_, Captain Thos. Wilson, and the _Bona_, Captain Damaron. The former was armed with fourteen carronades, some 18- and some 12-pounders, as well as two long 9-pounders, and carried 130 men. The latter had six 18-pounders, with a long 24-pounder mounted on a traverse, and a crew of ninety men....

This enormous preponderance of force was greatly increased in effective power by being divided between two opponents. A single enemy might be crippled by a single shot; but if good fortune rid the _Townshend_ of one antagonist in this way, there still remained the other to be reckoned, more powerful at every point than herself.

"If ever circ.u.mstances justified surrender after a short resistance they were present in this case. It might even be thought that resistance was a useless sacrifice of life; but such was not Captain c.o.c.k's view. He held it to be his plain duty not only to keep the mails out of the hands of the enemy--which could be done effectually by sinking them at any moment--but to use every means in his power to preserve them for their proper owners, and not to abandon hope of delivering them at the office of the post-office agent at Bridgetown until every chance of doing so was gone. Now, there were still two chances in his favour: first, that he might hold out until the noise of firing attracted some of the British cruisers which were probably in the immediate neighbourhood; and secondly, if that chance failed, he might run the _Townshend_ ash.o.r.e on some sh.o.r.e of the coast where the privateers could not follow him. Both these chances were desperate enough; but Captain c.o.c.k saw his duty clear before him, and cared nothing for the consequences. All his preparations were quickly made, and every man was at his post before the privateers came within range, which they did about 7 a.m.

"At 7.30 the _Tom_ had placed herself abeam of the packet to larboard, while the _Bona_ lay on the starboard quarter, and both their broadsides were cras.h.i.+ng into the _Townshend_ at pistol-shot distance, all three vessels running before the wind. This lasted till eight o'clock. The Americans, as was usual with them, made great use of 'dismantling shot,' _i.e._, chain- and bar-shot; the effect of which upon the rigging of the _Townshend_ was most disastrous. It was not long before her sails were hanging in ribbons, and her spars were greatly damaged, and in some momentary confusion from this cause the _Tom_ seized an opportunity of pouring in her boarders, while the _Bona_ redoubled her fire, both of great guns and musketry, to cover their attack. After a fierce tussle the Americans were driven back to their own s.h.i.+p; but this success was won by the loss of four of Captain c.o.c.k's best hands, who received disabling wounds in the fight.

Thereupon both privateers resumed the cannonade, maintaining the positions which they had taken up at the commencement of the action, and for another hour the _Townshend_ endured the fire of her enemies'

heavy guns, the courage of her commander and crew remaining as high and stubborn as ever. But the packet was by this time so much shattered that she could with difficulty be handled. Again and again the _Tom_ bore down upon her, and hurled fresh boarders up her sides.

Time after time Captain c.o.c.k led his wearied men to meet them, and each time drove them back.

"But the post-office men were now so reduced in numbers that it was with the greatest difficulty that Captain c.o.c.k could continue to serve the guns and at the same time collect sufficient men to meet the constantly recurring boarding attacks. It was plain that this situation of affairs could not last: there was no sign of succour on the sea, and when Captain c.o.c.k looked aloft he could not but admit that in the crippled condition of his s.h.i.+p all chance of running her ash.o.r.e was gone. The _Townshend_ was in fact a mere wreck. Her bowsprit was shot in pieces. Both jib-booms and head were carried away, as well as the wheel and ropes. Scarcely one shroud was left standing. The packet lay like a log on the water, while the privateers sailed round her, choosing their positions as they pleased, and raking her again and again. Still Captain c.o.c.k held out. It was not until ten o'clock, when he had endured the attack of his two powerful enemies for nearly three hours, that he looked about him and realised that the end had come. There were four feet of water in the hold, and the carpenter reported that it was rising rapidly. The packet was, in fact, sinking. Nearly half the crew were in the hands of the surgeon.

The rest, exhausted and hopeless of success, had already fought more n.o.bly than even he could have foreseen, and were now being uselessly sacrificed. Still Captain c.o.c.k's pride rebelled against surrender; and as he saw the colours he had defended so well drop down upon the deck, it is recorded that he burst into tears. He had no cause for shame.

Such a defeat is as glorious as any victory, and is fully worthy of the great traditions of valour on the sea which all Englishmen inherit."

It would be easy to quote many such stories, which, together with the siege of Pendennis, form the heroic memories of Falmouth. Otherwise, the town's a.s.sociations are chiefly provincial, not to say parochial.

The abiding glory of the place is its beauty of position, and the magnificent views that it commands. Something of an old-world atmosphere still lingers around the quays. One attraction is gone; John Burton is no longer at the old curiosity shop bearing his name.

Memories of the Killigrews are preserved by the curious pyramidal monument, erected in the Grove by Martin Killigrew in 1737, and now standing at Arwenack Green. Perhaps there should be some memorial of the Rev. John Collins, who, during the Commonwealth days, practised here as a physician, having been ejected from his living at Illogan.

His diary proves how well he deserved remembrance. One entry tells how he "did this day administer ---- to old Mrs. Jones for her ague."

Then, the following day: "Called on Mrs. Jones, and found she had died during the night in much agony. N.B.--Not use ---- again." We may hope he is now forgiven for his experiments. Falmouth, however, can only claim him as a resident. There is little more to tell about Falmouth.

Its present docks, covering an area of 120 acres, were built in 1860.

There is some s.h.i.+p-building, some brewing, with oyster and trawl fis.h.i.+ng; the fishery engages nearly seven hundred persons.

Industrially, the town cannot hope for much, unless it should ever become a naval base; but as a residential district it is very delightful, combining the charms of sea and n.o.ble river. The Castle Drive can hardly be surpa.s.sed, of its kind; and if we proceed past the Gyllyngvase bathing-beach, there is a pleasant little lake known as the Swanpool, which was once a swannery of the Killigrews.

For antiquity as for present-day industry we must go to Penryn, which lies about two miles up the Penryn Creek and is devoted to the export of granite. The busy but not very lovely little town has very much of a granite tone about it, and can boast that it supplied the material for Waterloo Bridge; it can also boast that it was in existence before the Conquest--how much earlier is difficult to say. Its parish church was so largely restored in 1883 that it is practically new; it is dedicated to "Gluvias the Cornishman," who was a Welshman. Among the gardens at the back of Penryn's chief street are some remains of Gla.s.siney College, founded in 1246 by Bishop Brones...o...b.. of Exeter for secular canons and vicars. It became perhaps the most important centre of learning and literature in Cornwall, and was a nursery of the old miracle-plays or interludes--some of which still survive in the Cornish original and prove themselves to be no better, no worse, than the average of such performances throughout the kingdom. Old Cornwall, it must be confessed, did very little for literature; and if we regret the extinction of the vernacular, it is not for any literary treasures that remain embodied in it. But an event that took place at Penryn is the theme of something a little better than the Cornish interludes--namely, the "Penryn Tragedy," which inspired Lillo's play _The Fatal Curiosity_. It is said that a Penryn man who had left Cornwall in his early days and had become rich abroad, returned to his home just as a present-day miner might return from South Africa. He was recognised by his married sister, but, begging her keep the secret, he proceeded incognito to his parents' house and asked their hospitality for the night. Unhappily the old mother caught sight of the treasure that he had about his person, and she persuaded the father to kill the man in his sleep. Next morning the sister came to share in their joy at the wanderer's return, and asked for her brother. To their horror, the wicked old couple found that they had murdered their own son. They had grace enough to commit suicide after the discovery. The same tale seems to have been conveyed to Wales, where it is related of a parish in Montgomerys.h.i.+re; but a Welsh poem that tells the story rightly attributes it to Cornwall. And yet it is possible that the same event happened in Wales also; a few years since the newspapers related an almost identical incident as having occurred in Russia. Perhaps the story really belongs to folk-lore, reappearing at times under a new guise and in a new locality.