HEAVY WEATHER OFF LAND’S END
HEAVY WEATHER OFF LAND’S END
On the northern side of the mount, which is about a mile in circumference at its base, there is a small but snug little harbour, along the quay of which are grouped the fishermen’s cottages and other houses belonging to the village. Above these, to a height of nearly 250 feet, rises the Mount, crowned by the imposing and picturesque castle and church. In the early morning, and on days when the mist struggles with the sunshine, it is a weirdly beautiful pile. The oldest portion of the buildings is the central tower, which is probably fourteenth or early fifteenth century work, and forms so prominent a sea mark. The hall and chapel date from the fifteenth century, and there is an ancient cross just above the steps leading to the latter building. The chapel has from time to time been altered and restored, and it was during some building operations of recent years that a Gothic doorway was discovered,bricked up on the right side of the east end of the church. Behind this was found a vault approached by a flight of steps, and in it was the skeleton of a man supposed to be that of Sir John Arundel.
On the top of the tower is what is known as St Michael’s Chair, in which recess there is just room for one person to be seated. The tradition connected with this somewhat giddy and overhanging seat is that any bride who has “nerve” enough to climb into it will be gifted with the power of ruling in her own home. But, notwithstanding this, comparatively few ladies, we were told, are prevailed upon to try.
The old mansion, which was erected upon the site of the priory, has largely disappeared; and many of the seventeenth-century rooms have been done away with to allow of apartments more in keeping with modern ideas and requirements. But in the Chevy Chase room, formerly the refectory of the monks, with its stuccoed cornice depicting hunting subjects, a good many interesting details have been preserved.
The views from the summit of the tower and upper walls and windows are very fine and extensive, including not only the whole of the bay, but a stretch of the coast both eastward and westward. Perhaps the most beautiful picture of the Mount itself is from Penzance, when the sunset glow bathes its hoary grey walls in roseate light, and gives to the solitary and impressive pile a mysterious beauty and significance.
In the old smuggling days Mount’s Bay was a veritable hotbed of the contraband trade. Many are the stories told of the bold smugglers of Penzance and Marazion; but of all that of one daring free trader, John Carter, known as “the King of Prussia,” and his famous retreat at Prussia Cove, a short distance eastward of Cudden Point, has the truest savour of romance.
Carter must have been not only a desperately bold and resourceful smuggler; but also what is known as an “original.” As a boy he doubtless got to know every nook and cranny ofthe little inlet, situated about six miles eastward of Penzance, which ultimately was so intimately associated with him and his daring deeds. Then the place was almost isolated from the outside world; an ideal smuggler’s retreat. Even nowadays it is cut off from the rest of the world, and although a most beautiful spot, comparatively few people find their way to it.
It was here, with the little island forming a natural breakwater to the cove, that young Carter spent his youthful days, probably planning the deeds which afterwards caused his name to be a household word in the district. He was probably equally well versed from his youth in the ways of the smuggling fraternity, and took to the trade himself as naturally as the proverbial duck does to water. In those days a “likely” spot was not often overlooked by the Cornish smugglers, and doubtless Prussia or Bessie’s Cove was used for illicit purposes long ere John Carter was of sufficient age to make the place notorious from Plymouth to Penzance. A writer of the period does not give the people of the coast just above here an enviable character, for after accusing them of wrecking and murdering (when necessary) the unfortunate seamen washed ashore, he goes on to say that their chief occupations were drinking, fighting, smuggling, and all kinds of other wickedness.
A BREEZE OFF THE LIZARD
A BREEZE OFF THE LIZARD
Long before Carter reached his majority, he—and his brother Harry, who, from a diary which has been preserved, appears to have possessed a somewhat sanctimonious soul—began to play his part in the local smuggling enterprises. And it was not long before he became recognized as a leader on account of his masterful character and his resource in daring expeditions planned to defraud the Customs. The nick-name of “the King of Prussia,” by which his fame has been handed down to posterity was bestowed upon him by his playmates in boyhood’s days; and was doubtless traceable to the interest which the doings of Frederick the Great were just then arousing throughout the civilized world.
The house in which “the King” lived is still by happy chance standing to form a link with the old days of romance, which are so rapidly passing even out of recollection. It is just a typical, low, two-storied thatched cottage with a small fore-garden, and rising ground at the back. When Carter came to live here first is not clear, but it is evident that it was whilst he was quite a young man. He soon set to work to make the Cove, over which he had set up a kind of sovereignty, as perfect as could be for the daring enterprises in which he intended to become engaged. He cut away the rocks at the entrance, deepened and improved the fairway and approach to the beach; and rendered the numerous existing caves more convenient for the stowage of smuggled goods. In addition to all this, a good path was cut in the cliffs connecting up the caves and beach, and road inland.
But, perhaps, the most astonishing part of Carter’s work was the fort which he erected on the point to the westward of the entrance to the cove, for the purpose of defending his goods. The remains of it can still be plainly traced, though it is nearly a century and a quarter since it was dismantled.
The battery of guns which “the King of Prussia” placed in position commanded all the sea approaches, and for a time successfully overawed the “preventives,” as they were doubtless intended to do. Anyway, there are records existing of the most daring acts of smuggling which took place right under their noses.
However, on one occasion the revenue men from Penzance, when “the King” was absent, perhaps upon one of his periodical visits to the French coasts, came round in force to the Cove, and took possession of a cargo lately landed from France. The bales and “tubs” were swiftly conveyed to the security of the Customs House Store at Penzance. And doubtless the revenue men chuckled over their pipes that night on the easy capture they had made. They reckoned, however, without their host.In due course John Carter returned to the Cove to discover the loss which had happened to him. It did not take him long to make up his mind. “The King of Prussia” was a man of decision. He must get back those “tubs” and bales of his. Besides (as he is reported to have told his adherents) he had promised delivery to “a gentleman of substance and position, and other customers, by a certain date, and as an honest man he was bound to keep his word!”
The same night there assembled on the waste land near “the King of Prussia’s” house two score or more of well-armed men, who marching down to the beach took boat for Penzance, where they broke open the Customs House, took forcible repossession of the goods, and sailed away across the bay to Prussia Cove.
That such proceedings should have been possible at the end of the eighteenth century seems almost incredible to the modern mind. But one must remember that Cornwall, or at least the extreme western portion of it, was at that time almost as isolated and remote as the Scilly Isles or portions of the north coast of Scotland.
Such a daring exploit could not, however, long be overlooked; and the Customs House authorities of the district determined to make a supreme effort to put down John Carter and his gang.
So one day not long afterwards the look-out man at the Cove was surprised to see a large cutter approaching, which his knowledge of smuggling and revenue craft at once told him was a foe. The alarm was given, the smugglers hastened to the beach, and manned the battery on the point. The guns were loaded and run out, and with a daring which must have astonished those aboard H.M.S.Fairy, the battery opened fire.
For a time the smugglers held the revenue men in check, and prevented them from landing, but at length the latter succeeded in entering the Cove. The battery was stormed andcaptured. The guns were dismounted and thrown into a pool hard by, reputed locally to be bottomless, and the place was dismantled.
History, somewhat strangely, is silent regarding the ultimate fate of “the King of Prussia” and his companions after their defeat. But it is quite evident that the event put an end to Carter’s smuggling exploits; or, at all events, to further ones of the barefaced nature in which he had up to that time indulged with impunity.
All along the coast the revenue men were not altogether unwilling to deal leniently with the smuggling fraternity, and even benefit by such a course of conduct, and it seems, therefore, very probable that “the King of Prussia” lived a quiet life upon the handsome profits of the many successful ventures in which he had been concerned, until the time came for him to leave the scenes of his exploits.
At all events the “stirring and veracious history of ‘the King of Prussia’ and his comrades” forms not the least entertaining and informing narrative of the old smuggling days in these parts.
The town of Penzance, except for its picturesque fishing fleet, and certain old associations, is not a place of any particular charm. To use the words of a local historian, “It is a town of to-day, and has little or no history.” But it is not, after all, of such entirely mushroom growth as the said historian would be held to imply. Its seal, which dates from 1641, is an extremely interesting one. St John the Baptist’s head on the charger appears in its design; with the legend “Pensans,” which by some is thought to give a clue to the origin of the town’s name, Penzance—penbeing Cornish for head, andsansmeaning holy. Some more prosaic folk, however, assert that the name has nothing to do with St John, and try to derive it from the ancient chapel to the patron saint of fishermen, St Anthony, which once stood on the land near the quay.
In the present town, which, even from the sea, is not as picturesque as ports usually are, there is preserved in Alverton Street the old name of the district, which comprised not only Penzance, but also Newlyn and Mousehole.
In the Domesday Book it is referred to as Alwaretone, and was at that period one of the most valuable estates in Cornwall. In ancient times there stood at Penzance, Castle Horneck, the home of the lords of the place; and from the middle of the fourteenth century a weekly market and a seven days’ annual fair have been held. Existing records tell us that the town prospered to some considerable extent during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries; but at the end of the latter, although news was brought to Penzance of the Armada’s approach, the Spanish galleons did not even put into the bay, but stood up Channel for Plymouth and the English fleet. Perhaps the inhabitants of the town were lulled by this providential escape from molestation into a sense of security which was to cost them dear. For in the year 1595 on a July morning, when the sea and bay alike were veiled in all too secretive mist, as Carew narrates the event, “four gallies of the enemy presented themselves upon the coast over against Mousehole, and there in a fair bay landed about two hundred men, pike and shot, who forthwith sent their forlorn hope, consisting of their basest people, unto the straggled houses of the country ... by whom were burned not only the houses they went by, but also the parish church of Paul, the force of the fire being such that it utterly ruined the great stone pillars thereof. Others of them in that time burned that fisher town Mousehole; the rest watched as a guard for the defence of these firers.”
PENZANCE
PENZANCE
After which we gather from another account the galleys moved away to Newlyn, when, after setting that village on fire, the men who had been landed for the purpose marched on Penzance. Here had gathered a little band of the inhabitants—terror-stricken as they undoubtedly were—headed by SirFrancis Godolphin, who was urging them to offer a stout resistance. But alas! the defenders that should have been were so consumed by fear that when Sir Francis came into the market place to organize his force and appoint to them their several duties, he found only “two resolute shot, and some ten or twelve others that followed him, most of them his own servants. The rest, surprised with fear, fled, whom neither with his persuasion nor threatening with his rapier drawn, he could recall.”
This is not a very flattering account of Penzance valour; but the result of the cowardice shown must have been a heavy punishment. In a few hours the town was but a mass of smoking ruins. Having accomplished what they had set themselves to do, the Spaniards re-embarked; and appeared to have seen the wisdom of not proceeding further along the coast. At all events, ere the English Fleet, which was hastening to give them battle, could arrive, they had set sail for Spain and made good their escape. In this wise came to pass and ended the most complete and serious invasion of these shores ever made by Spaniards.
Penzance arose Phœnix-like from its ashes, and in the middle of the seventeenth century “was become a place of some importance and size, so that King James granted it a charter of incorporation.” Till then, at least, Marazion across the Bay, behind St Michael’s Mount, had continued the most important town in the immediate neighbourhood. Leland speaks of it as a “great long town,” and whatever the origin of the name may be, and whether (as tradition asserts) Joseph of Arimathea was connected with it and its tin trade, does not nowadays much matter.
Penzance, during the Civil War, remained for the King, and the town and its inhabitants were destined to pay a heavy price for the privilege of loyalty. The place was seized by the Parliamentarians—at the time they were attacking StMichael’s Mount—and they plundered, partially burned, and sacked as though foreign invaders had landed and had been permitted to wreck their vengeance unmolested.
At his restoration Charles II, to mark his appreciation of the Penzance folk’s loyalty to his father, gave the town the dignity of a coinage town. To it, in consequence, all tin within the Stannary of Penwith and Kerrier had to be brought to have a corner or “coin” cut off to test its quality. And, until 1838, every hundredweight of the metal was so tested, and had to pay a tax amounting to four shillings.
Nowadays Penzance is chiefly seeking to advance its claims for recognition as a health and holiday resort. With many, however, the old world claim of romantic interest will weigh more heavily than either those of climate or modern amusements. But, as a sapient guide book relating to a more ancient town, which is also making a bid for popularity on similar grounds, avers, “a town cannot live upon its romantic interest alone, nor on the light of other days,” whatever that last may be. And so we must regard Penzance from a new standpoint, which is easier, as it possesses practically no ancient or historic buildings, and only one street, Market Jew Street, in one of the houses of which Sir Humphry Davy was born, which dwells in our memory as being of any note or picturesqueness.
But sometimes Nature is more than kind to Penzance, and we have seen her transform the distant town, as we lay at anchor on the bosom of Mount’s Bay, into something of almost ethereal beauty, as the soft, pearly light of a June evening enveloped it against a background of crimson and powdered gold.
THE END