Wild life at the Land's End : observations of the habits and haunts of the fox, badger, otter, seal, hare, and of their pursuers in Cornwall

I

WILLIAM c.KUlU.t's SONS J.TH
S'l PAKK - I Kh H I , hkl>lul 1

WILD LIFE AT THE LAND'S END

WILD LIFE
AT THE LAND'S END

OBSERVATIONS OF THE HABITS AND

HAUNTS OF THE FOX, BADGER, OTTER

SEAL, HARE, AND OF THEIR PURSUERS IN

CORNWALL

BY J. C. TREGARTHEN

LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET

1904

PREFACE

THE sports described have led me to some of the
wildest and weirdest spots of West Cornwall.
There are few tracts in England more rugged
than the northern part of the peninsula that lies
between the Land's End and St Ives. It is pos-
sible to travel across the moors from Crobben
Hill to Chapel Cairn Brea without setting foot on
cultivated ground. It is a boulder-strewn waste,
void of trees, where the grey of the granite mingles
in spring and autumn with the gold of the gorse
that, with heather and bracken, clothes the undulat-
ing surface.

To the lover of nature the wild aspect of these
breezy uplands is not without its charms ; but the
glory of the promontory is the ocean in which it
is set. The great rampart of cliffs that holds back
the Atlantic is broken here and there by beaches
of white sand or minute shells, or by coves into
which fall the trout-streams that rise in the granite

hills above. Along the tangled valleys they water,

a 2

vi PREFACE

many an interesting picture arrests the eye ; but
whether it be a holy well, an old mill, a grove,
a rustic bridge or fishing-hamlet, all is in tender
miniature, like the streams themselves or the modest
hills where they bubble to the light.

In these valleys bird-life is rich. On a spit
of sand you may chance on the footprints of an
otter, whose harbour by day is some rocky holt
along the cliffs ; where the blackthorns are densest
you may come across a badger's earth, and see
the paths he has trodden in going to and fro. This
creature is very plentiful — as plentiful indeed as the
hare is scarce. Generally he shares the same earth
with the fox. On the north coast the seal shows
no sign of decrease ; thanks to its tireless vigilance,
and the inaccessible caves it frequents.

These surviving mammals add to the attractions
of a coast and countryside over which broods the
silence of a mysterious past. The fascination
which these creatures have for me dates from boy-
hood, when I once caught a glimpse of a badger
stealing over a cairn in the grey of early dawn ;
and the Earthstopper, wandering with dog and
lantern over the moors, presents a picture that
has often appealed to me.

If the descriptions, however crude, serve to

PREFACE vii

awaken old associations in some readers, or to
excite the interest of those who have never visited
the sunny "land of the three shores"; above all,
if the sketch of the Earthstopper helps to preserve
the memory of a master of his craft, my hopes will
be fully realised.

ROSMORRAN, SlDCUP.

CONTENTS

CHAP. PAOB

I. THE EARTHSTOPPER UNDER THE STARS . . i
II. THE FOX-HUNT ...... 14

III. FOX-HUNTING, AS IT WAS IN THE DAYS OF QUEEN
BESS, quoted from Care-mi's Survey of Cornwall,
1565 • . ... 34

IV. THE OTTER— TRACKING THE WILY VARMINT . 36

V. THE OTTER, continued — THE EARTHSTOPPER'S

VIGIL ....... 48

VI. THE OTTER, continued— THE OTTER AT THE LAKE 64
VII. THE OTTER, continued— THE HUNT . . .71

VIII. THE WHITE BADGER OF CAIRN KENIDZHEK — THE

EARTHSTOPPER IN DOUBT . . . .85

IX. THE WHITE BADGER OF CAIRN KENIDZHEK, con-
tinued—If^ EARTHSTOPPER ANGRY . . 100

X. THE WHITE BADGER OF CAIRN KENIDZHEK, con-
tinued—-THE BADGER'S CAPTURE AND ESCAPE . 112

XI. THE HARE— LIFE STORY OF THE JACK OF BAR-

TINNEY . . . . . .130

ix

x CONTENTS

CHAP. PAOK

XII. THE HARE, continued— DIGORY STROUT AND FARMER

PENDRE ...... 145

XIII. THE HARE, continued— TUT*. COURSE . . .152

XIV. A MIDNIGHT VISIT TO THE SEAL-CAVES . . 167
XV. REMINISCENCES OF BOYHOOD'S DAYS . . .186

XVI. BASS FISHING AT THE LAND'S END . . . 206

XVII. NED'S TALE OF THE BIRDS . . . .221

GLOSSARY ....... 235

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

ANDREW THE EARTHSTOPPER (Photogravure], (From

a photograph by Richards, Penzance} . . Frontispiece

THE EARTHSTOPPER ON TRENGWAINTON CAIRN.

(From a photograph by Richards, Penzance] . Face page 12

THE Fox. (From a photograph by C. Reid} . „ 26

Fox-CUBS. (From a photograph by C. Reid} . . „ 34

TOL PEDN PENWITH. (From a photograph by R. H.

Preston, Penzance] ...... 38

LAMORNA MILL. (From a photograph by R. H.

Preston, Penzance) ...... 44

LAMORNA, SHOWING CAIRN DHU HEADLAND.

(From a photograph by R. H. Preston, Penzance} „ 52

THE OTTER. (From a photograph by Quatremaine,

Stratford-on-Avon} . . . . „ 64

A HAUNT OF THE OTTER. (From a photograph by

R. H. Preston, Penzance} „ 82

CAIRN KENIDZHEK. (From a photograph by Gibson

&> Sons, Penzance) .....,, 88

THE BADGER. (From a photograph by C. Reid} . „ HO

ST BURYAN CHURCH. (From a photograph by R. H.

Preston, Penzance} ... „ 130

jd

xii LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

STONE CIRCLE AT BOSCAWEN-UN. (From a photo-
graph by Gibson & Sons, Penzance) . . Face page 138

SANCREED CHURCHTOWN. (From a photograph by

Gibson &* Sons, Penzance) . . . „ 150

CHAPEL ST UNY WELL. (From a photograph by

Gibson &* Sons, Penzance) . . . . „ 1 56

ZENNOR CHURCHTOWN. (from a photograph by R.

H. Preston, Penzance) . . . . „ 166

A STREET AT ST IVES. (From a photograph by R.

H. Preston, Penzance) . . . . „ 168

HELL'S BAY. (From a photograph by W, Cooper, St

Ives) ,,178

NEST OF SEAGULL. (From a photograph by Gibson

<&° Sons, Penzance} . . . . „ 190

ST MICHAEL'S MOUNT. (From a photograph by R.

H. Preston, Penzance) . . . . „ 194

SENNEN COVE. (From a photograph by Gibson &*

Sons, Penzance) . . . . „ 206

PORTHGWARRA. (From a photograph by R. H.

Preston, Penzance) . . . . . „ 210

A HAUNT OF THE RAZOR-BILL. (From a photo-
graph by Gibson &» Sons, Penzance) . . „ 220

THE HOME OF THE CORMORANT. (From a photo-
graph by Gibson & Sons, Penzance} . . „ 226

THE LAND'S END. (From a photograph by R. H.

Preston, Penzance} ...... 232

WILD LIFE AT THE LAND'S

END

CHAPTER I

THE EARTHSTOPPER UNDER THE STARS

IT was an hour after midnight when the Earth-
stopper of the Penwith Hunt left his cottage on the
outskirts of Madron. He carried a lantern and a
rough terrier followed at his heels. His track led,
by lanes in the heather, over a cairn to the furze-
clad downs overlooking the lake.

To the West, sombre hills rose against the
jewelled vault where the stars in the depths of the
frosty sky kept watch over the slumbering earth.
Half-way over the downs, beneath the roots of a
stunted pine, was a fox-earth. The old man knelt
down and stopped it with faggots of furze. The
light of the lantern lit up his strong and kindly face,
and fell on the heap of sandy soil at the mouth of
the earth.

2 THE EARTHSTOPPER UNDER THE STARS

Leaving the downs he turned towards Penhale,
skirting the marshy ground in the trough of the
hills, and climbing a steep rise made for a crag —
playground of many litters — beneath which lay the
next earth. Furze bushes screened the entrance
and hung like a pall on the slope. The wind
wuthered round the rocks and stirred the rushes in
the fen below ; but the Earthstopper gave no heed
to these whisperings of the night, and paused but
for an instant, as he bent over his work, to listen to
the bark of a fox in the pitchy darkness beyond.
His way now lay across a bleak waste. Rude
monuments of a grey past dot its surface and a
solitary cottage overlooks its desolation. No path
led along the line he was taking : cromlech and
monolith in ghostly outline guided his steps.

The Earthstopper's progress was slow, for the
surface was rough and the bogs treacherous, but yet
he was getting nearer and nearer to Cairn Galver,
which rose like a cliff from the moor, its crest
silhouetted against the deep sapphire of the
heavens.

" Good God, what's thet ? " said he, as a fiendish
scream awoke the echoes of the rugged hills.
" Don't sound like et, but et must a' come from
thet cottage over theere. Iss sure, theere's a light

RECOGNISES THE MINER 3

in the winder. Semmen to me 'tes uncommon like
murder."

He had taken but a few stumbling steps along
a track into which he had turned, ere the faint thud
of hoofs fell on his ear. More and more distinct
through the night came the sound, broken at times
by a shout. A rocky hollow lay in front of him ;
down which rider and horse came at a furious pace,
splashing the water as they dashed through the
stream below. Breasting the rise at the same frantic
speed they were over the brow and almost upon the
Earthstopper before he was aware, and scarcely had
he jumped aside when they galloped past him.

Merest glimpse though he got of the man, he
recognised him, for his face was turned towards the
light as it lay over the horse's neck. It was Jago
the miner.

" Good Lor', what's the maanin' of et ? Why
don't eh stop the hoss ? "

" Don't take me for a Jack-o-Lantern, s'pose?"
Some distance along the stony track the clatter
of the hoofs ceased. The Earthstopper ran towards
the spot.

" Where are ee, why don't ee spaake ? "

" Heere, An'rew, quick as you can."

A minute later the Earthstopper, with one hand

4 THE EARTHSTOPPER UNDER THE STARS

resting on the mane of the heaving horse, was look-
ing up at the miner's blanched face.

" What's the matter wi' ee, Jago ? you looked
skeared."

" Steve es killed by a faal o' ground. We
brought un hoam an hour agone. Et wor moore nor
Mawther could stand. Her rason's clane gone."

" Can I help ee ? "

" No thank ee, An'rew."

In breathless haste he spoke, and with a shout
he was gone, his path picked out in sparks, as the
good horse without bridle or rein covered the
ground to the slumbering village.

Andrew stood peering through the night till the
tiny fires died away and the beat of the hoofs struck
faint as the footfall of a child.

This incident had unnerved the lonely Earth-
stopper.

More than once as he ascended the Galver he
turned his head, though without staying his steps,
to see that it was but the terrier that followed him.
Panting from the hurried climb he rested on a
boulder of the cairn and set the lantern down on
the turf at his feet. The bitch nestled between her
master and the flickering flame.

The stars shone in all their splendour, but it was

ADDRESSES HIS DOG 5

the glow-worm light that crept through the gloom
below which riveted the Earthstopper's gaze.

"Well, Vennie me beety, theere's death and
worse nor death in thet theere cottage, and et's shook
me tar'ble, but our night's work must be got through
somehow or theer'll be no spoart to-day. With this
wind a fox es moast sure to make for Zonnor Cliffs.

" Come, me dear, 'tes cold up heere, two mile
waan't see us to cliff, and thee must furst run through
the radgell on the Little Galver."

So, taking up the lantern, he went to the clitter
of rocks and sent the bitch in. He could follow
her by the patter of her feet as she ran through the
cavernous hollows. On coming out at the far end
of the rocks she awaited her master and, when he
came up, took her place at his heels. Before leav-
ing the high ground the Earthstopper stood listen-
ing for a few moments with his face towards Madron,
whither Jago had ridden to summon the doctor.
Hearing nothing, he made his way down the slope
of the cairn to the rugged waste that stretches
away to the Northern coast.

Their work was now done till they reached the
cliffs. He seldom spoke to his dog in going from
one earth to another, and to-night he had enough to
think about,

6 THE EARTHSTOPPER UNDER THE STARS

Thirty years of wandering under the stars
had matured the philosopher within him.

" Mine's a wisht kind of a life, mine es ; but so
long as health and strength do laast 'tes grand to
traapse the moors and circumvent the varmints. I
know evra inch o' thes eere country, evra patch o'
fuzze, and evra pile o' rocks, and the stars be moore
to me nor to moast folks. The eearth es beetiful, 'tes
a pity to laave et, and when we do wheere do we go
to ? The ways o' the birds, the enstincts of evra
wild crittur, the min'rals I've blasted in the bal
under the saa, the dimants up theere, tell me plain
enuf theere's a Maister-hand behind et all. All of
ee say theere's a God, but why are ee quiate as the
grave about the Better Land ? "

The distant stars glittered in the silent vault,
the wind was heedless as the moor it swept, and
there was no answer in the far-off mystic murmur of
the sea.

His sinewy strides soon brought him to the edge
of the cliff. Two hundred feet below, the Atlantic
lashed the rocks and raged in the caverns.

" Well, auld Ocean, I can hear ee ef I caan't see
ee. Hope theest heaved up no dead thes tide.
Lor', how the gools do scraame, to be sure ! but 'tes
moosic and 'tes company to thet scraach on the

CLAMBERS DOWN THE CLIFF 7

moor " ; and he shuddered at the thought. Half
trusting to the tussocks of coarse grass but with
muscles all alert he clambered down the steep zigzag
his own feet had traced, towards the adit of Wheal
Stanny situate near the line of the foam. Shrinking
from the seething waters below he crept along a
narrow ledge and with scanty foothold reached the
mouth of the adit, where he brushed the sweat and
salt spray from his face.

Then on hands and knees, his finger-marks
effacing the footprints of marauding fox, he entered
the narrowing chasm and stopped the hole as best
he could, with pieces of quartz.

Drippings from the moist roof — retreat of tremb-
ling fern — blurred the lantern's light and dimmed
the sparkle of the crystals.

Leaving the cliffs he made for the uplands, for a
few earths lay in the gullies that seamed them, and
here and there a disused mine-work offered a safe
retreat to fox and badger. Carefully the Earth-
stopper picked his way in the murky hollows, the
lantern's light awaking the frown of the granite and
falling bright on the gold of the bracken that fringed
the treacherous shaft. On the weird countryside
above, the array of boulders loomed like phantoms
in the sombre heather.

8 THE EARTHSTOPPER UNDER THE STARS

Threading in and out among them as he rose and
sank with the undulating surface, the Earthstopper
might have been a spy stealing from camp to camp
of spectral hosts bivouacking on the dusky slopes.

On the furthest ridge he stood peering into the
darkness that shrouded a moor over which he must
pass. The level expanse might have seemed to in-
vite him as smooth water invites a swimmer wearied
by the waves, but superstitious fear held him there
irresolute. For an eerie legend clung to the heart
of the moor. Crofters would draw closely round
their bright furze-fires as they listened to the harrow-
ing tale. Little wonder that the old man paused in
his forward path, for the last earth on his round was
near a cairn that partly screened a haunted pool,
and the moor compassed it round.

Seeing a light — it was a mere glimmer — in a
lone homestead on the low ground between him and
the cliff, he resolved to make his way down to it
and await the dawn. With difficulty, for the
hillside was covered with furze, he reached the
byre where a candle burned on the ledge inside a
small window. Peeping through a cob-webbed
pane, he was able to recognise the farmhand at
work inside, though the man's back was turned
towards him.

COLD COMFORT 9

Unfortunately for the labourer, the noise made
by the turnip-chopper he was working drowned the
sound of the approaching footsteps, and Andrew's
voice at the half-open door was the first intimation
he had of the Earthstopper's presence.

"Mornin', 'Gellas."

" Lor', you ded maake me joomp, An'rew. . . .
Wisht news about Steve Jago, edna?"

" Bra' an wisht. I do hear the poor auld
woman's gone clane out of her mind. 'Tes foolish
like, but her scraachin's thet unnarved me, I'm moast
afeered to go and stop thet theere eearth touchin'
Deadman."

" Laave un be, noathin' eearthly waan't go a-
nighst un for thes day. A sinkin' fox would raither
die in th' open nor maake for un. They do say
when any man or woman o' thes heere parish, and
'tes a bra' big wan too, do die a vilent death like as
ow" . . .

Andrew's upraised palm had checked him.

"Then thee dost know all 'bout un?"

" Iss, iss, worse luck, I've heerd about the wisht
auld thing."

" Look here, An'rew," said Tregellas under his
breath as he drew close to him, " I don't knaw
how fur may be fancy like, for I'd bin thinkin'

B

10 THE EARTHSTOPPER UNDER THE STARS

'bout un, but semmen to me I heerd a scraach from
thet quarter about an hour agone and theere —
theere edn any housen to moore nor a mile "...

Andrew had heard more than enough and,
before Tregellas could add another word, he hurried
through the open doorway, crossed the brook that
ran through the mowhay, and was soon breasting
the rugged hill leading to the Deadman.

On the edge of the moor he paused to listen.
From out the distance came the cry of some bird : the
sea called faintly behind him. He looked towards
the East. There was no sign of dawn.

" I'll faace un, come what may. Be quiate,
stop thet theere whinin' will ee."

Then he trimmed the wick of the lantern, pulled
his cap well on to his ears and, stepping from tuft
to tuft of the silent heather, set out across the
moor. He made straight for the cairn and with
trembling hands stopped the earth ; but though he
heard the wind sighing in the reeds he feared to
turn his eyes towards the tarn.

Hurrying from the eerie spot he set out on his
way homewards, staying his steps a moment near
a pool to look at the clean-cut footprints of a fox.
Water was oozing into them, for the ground was
very marshy. And so he came to the gaunt ruin

SUNRISE 11

of Ding Dong Mine which serves as a mark to the
long-line fishermen of Mount's Bay. Only the walls
and end timbers of the lofty roof are left for the gales
to whistle through ; and in the grey dawn a kestrel
perched on the gable was preening its feathers. From
the mine-burrows hard by, the wayfarer overlooks
headland and harbour, the surf round St Michael's
base and the waters of the sail-flecked bay.

Well might the Earthstopper, whose soul, like
that of many a toiler, was far above his lowly work,
dwell on the awakening beauty of land and sea
below him.

The stars had paled their fires and crimson
streaks in the throbbing east heralded the sun.
Lighting first the hungry Manacles the gladdening
orb rose over the serpentine cliffs of Lizard, bath-
ing with its rays the sea and circling hills, and
touching with gold the battlements of the castle
and the pinnacles of the westward churches.

" No wonder thet furriners do bow their knees
on desert sands and wusshup ee. Don't knaw
when I've seed ee lookin' so beetiful missel." The
hawk, now hovering over its prey, disturbed his
simple reverie. "Come, me dear" — but Vennie
had slipped away — "'tes nigh breakfust time, and
the cheeld will be 'spectin' us." So down the hill

12 THE EARTHSTOPPER UNDER THE STARS

he hurried, the smoke from his own hearth cheering
him and turning his thoughts to his peaceful home.
He pictured the little room neat and clean, the
breakfast-table with his chair drawn up to it, the
sanded floor and the kettle on the brandis amidst
the glowing embers. He forgot his fatigue ; his
steps were lightened as he thought of the child who
looked after his few comforts and always welcomed
his home-coming. At a turn in the track by
some stormbent hawthorns he came suddenly upon
her, come out to meet him. What a change
comes over the old man's face at the sight of her !
How his eyes brighten as she runs to greet him !

" I knawed thee couldna be fur away, granfer,
for Vennie's been home these ten minits or moore."

He looked behind him, but the bitch was gone.

"Ah, I can guess what's drawed her theere."

The girl took the lantern from his cramped
hand and, side by side, her arm linked with his, they
made their way towards the cottage. Two minutes
later the clatter of hoofs behind them made her
look round. " Someone's comin' down the Forest
Cairn, granfer."

" Iss, me dear, 'tes Dobbin's step thee canst
hear. Now run home along whilst I have a word
with the doctor."

'" THE EARTHSTOITEK ON TKENGWAINTON CAIRN.

[Face page 12.

FEASTEN MONDAY 13

The girl was barely a stone's throw away when
the doctor cantered up to where the Earthstopper
awaited him.

" Mornin', Andrew, another touch of rheuma-
tism ? "

" No, sir, never felt better in my life ; no, tedn
thet : I wanted to ask ee about Mrs Jago."

" You've heard about it ? "

The Earthstopper nodded assent.

" It's all over with the poor woman, Andrew."

..." May be 'tes best so, sir."

"Yes, best so," repeated the doctor, as he rode
away.

Andrew overtook his grandchild near the cottage,
and was following her through the open door,
getting a glimpse of Vennie and her puppies on the
badger skin before the turf fire, when the bells
rang out a joyous peal as if to remind him of the
festive day. He turned and listened : the grey
tower rose above the patched roofs of the cottages,
the notes struck clear through the crisp air.

A smile rose to the weather-beaten face, the lips
moved, and cheerily came the words :

" Ring out your best, auld bells, for 'tes Maddern
Feasten Monday."

CHAPTER II

THE FOX-HUNT

BEYOND the memory of Dick Hal, who remembered
the home-bringing of two wounded " Church-Town "
men after Waterloo, the hounds had met on Feast
Days at the Castle. The grounds with their stately
terraces and relics of feudal dignity were thrown
open for the meet, the protests of old Jenny at the
park gate notwithstanding.

Long before the hour appointed a little crowd
assembled outside the lodge. Fishermen in blue
guernseys were there, miners in their workaday
clothes, and a strong force of villagers. It is note-
worthy what a motley crowd, from squire to plough-
boy, from vigorous youth to crippled old age, will
congregate to witness a day's fox-hunting.

And surely the sight of twenty couple of hounds
drawing a patch of gorse in an open and wild
country, the suspense that follows the first whimper,

OLD JENNY AND THE CROWD 15

the find, the thrilling tally-ho, and the hurry and
scurry of the field, is a spectacle as pleasant as it is
exhilarating.

Looking out of an upper window of one of the
little towers that flanked the gateway was old Jenny
Trewheela, blind of one eye, whose sharp tongue
was more effective than a fifteen-pounder in defence
of her charge. Villagers averred that "her main
suction ware vinegar," and a candid friend had told
her so. As the hour approached the crowd began
to press too close to the lodge to please her vigilant
eye. " Werta shovin' to ? Thee shussen wan of
ee c6me inside the gates till th' 'ounds 'a gone
through. They be Sir Bevil's orders."

" Sober, mawther," said a keen-eyed poacher,
" we be all afeeard of ee, and thee dost knaw it ; but
hows'ever we doan't want none o' your winegar.
Custna haand round a bit o' crowse and a drop o'
somethin' to drink ? Tes a dry East wind and bra'
an cold."

" Sauce and imprence ! I do knaw thee and the
crooked ways of ee, though thee dost skulk behind
a honest man," and with that she banged- to the
window.

A few minutes before the village clock chimed
the hour, the huntsman, hounds, and whippers-in

16 THE FOX-HUNT

passed through the gate and along the approach to
the inner court, and drew up on the far side of the
keep near the old culverin. By ones and twos,
gentlemen from the country round, tenant farmers
and crofters, rode up to the Castle.

This venerable building in the hundred of Pen-
with in the parish of Madron had been the seat of
the Tresillians from the time of Henry the Second.
The Castle is quaintly described in an old survey of
Cornwall as "very ancient, strong and fayre and
appurtenanced with the necessaries of wood, water,
parkes, moors, with the devotion of a rich-furnished
chapelle and charitie of almshouses."

The terrace is still haunted by the squire who
fell on the memorable day when the place was held
for the King against the Roundheads. The paint-
ing in the hall shows the assault on the outer wall,
where a lurid glare lights up helm and pike at the
narrow breach ; for above battlement and turret,
clearly outlined, leap tongues of fire from the beacon
on the Cairn.

Dents in the granite walls still mark where the
cannon-balls struck the building ; and it was at that
time — I know there are some who dispute the
date — that one of the quarterings of the family
arms above the entrance was effaced.

THE HUNT BREAKFAST 17

Sir Bevil and Lady Tresillian, who were standing
on the steps below, gave their guests a hearty wel-
come. Breakfast was laid in the wainscotted hall,
bright with log fires.

Cornish worthies in their gold frames wink at
the merry gathering round the table.

Sir Bevil, despite his grey hairs, looks young for
his sixty years. Life's work is stamped on his high-
bred features. He looks every inch a soldier. The
tanned face and parched skin suggest frontier fight-
ing : the scar on the brow confirms it.

Facing the mullioned window, on Sir Bevil's right
is Squire Tremenheere of Lanover, the hardest rider
of the hunt ; next him is the Major of the C.C.
battery, whose neighbour is the popular member
for the Land's End Division ; next him is a ship-
owner whose vessels are on every sea ; the veteran
with silvery hair and twinkling eyes has been
purser of a tin-mine for nearly half a century ; the
man with the long black beard is the village doctor,
and a kind friend to the poor ; below him sit
half a score farmers, and a good time they are
having.

' This be a good drop o' zider," says the weather-
beaten crofter who sits facing a portrait of Sir
Richard Grenville. "Gos't home," said the eldest

c

18 THE FOX-HUNT

tenant on the estate, " Tedden no zider : but caal 'en
what you like, 'tes a drop of the raal auld stingo."

The aristocratic old gentleman, tete-a-tete with
Lady Elizabeth, is Sir Lopes Carminowe, who knows
every gate, gap and fox-earth in Penwith. Need
it be said that the little wizened-face man with
laughing eyes, whose wit is as dry as the champagne,
is the legal adviser of those whom he is tickling
with forensic anecdotes ? The parson is the re-
cipient of much chaff and banter ; but with eyes
sparkling under his shaggy brows and in the best
of humour he is cutting about him with his sharp-
edged tongue to the discomfiture of his assailants.
Says Sir Bevil, " The parson reminds me of the
Cavalier in the picture who has brought down half
a dozen of the enemy and is looking round for
more."

Breakfast over, the gay company passed out
of the Castle, mounted their restive horses and
rode away to the covert by the lake. The Cairn
that overlooked it was covered with pedestrians
who, like spectators in a theatre, were waiting for
the play to begin. Does any one doubt that the
sporting instinct is strong in Englishmen ? Ob-
serve that poor old man in clean smock-frock and
white beaver. This is Dick Hal. He can't see

DRAWN BLANK 19

very well, but he would like to hear the cry of the
hounds once more. He began earthstopping the
year Bonaparte died at St Helena, and this morn-
ing a little child has led him to the Cairn that he
might perchance hear the music he loved so well.
And it seemed probable, so rarely had the brake
been found tenantless, that he and the rest, younger
and noisier in their expectation of sport, would not
be disappointed.

The cry of the huntsman in the bottoms at
once hushes the hum of the crowd. Ears strain to
catch the first whimper, and eager eyes search every
yard of open ground to view the stealthy movements
of a fox. Under the shelter of a boulder, apart from
the crowd, sits Jim Roscruge, the old mining pioneer,
and near him a man in velveteen coat and sealskin
cap who looks the incarnation of vigilance.

Surely we have seen that cheery face before —
it's Andrew the Earthstopper, looking little the worse
for his night's adventures. The leading hounds
had come through the brake. " Saams to me," says
Roscruge, "that Nute drawed a bit too quick like.
A fox'll sometimes lie as close as a sittin' perth-
ridge." " May be you're right : but Joe Nute do
knaw 'es work, and, lor', what moosic's in the voice
of un ! Harkee ! . . . Grand, edna you ? Saam

20 THE FOX-HUNT

time I niver seed the brake drawed blank but wance
afore."

The field began to move slowly to the next
cover whilst the hounds ran through some crofts
where the furze was thin.

" Wild country this, Tresillian," said the Major of
Sir Bevil's old battery as they rode along side by
side.

" Yes, it's more or less like this all the way to
Dartmoor, heather and gorse on the surface, tin
and copper underground. It's the backbone of the
county in more sense than one."

"And Lyonnesse must be somewhere near?"

"That" said Sir Bevil, smiling, "is the sub-
merged land between the Land's End and the
Scillies. Scientists, confound 'em, are trying to
prove that the sea has covered it since the Creation.
What right have they got to meddle with our tradi-
tions ? They'll be saying next that the letters *
on the Men Scryfa — it's in a croft over that ridge
facing us — have been cut out by the action of the
weather on the granite."

" Well, Andrew," said Sir Bevil as he rode up,
" where do you think we may find to-day ? "

" I caan't hardly tell, sir," said he, keeping pace
* Riolabran Cunoval fil.

A LIKELY DRA\V 21

with the horse ; " but at daybreak this morning I
balled a fox " — at this Sir Bevil pulled up his horse,
— " on that bit o' soft ground under Ding Dong
on the Quoit side, and seys I to missel, me shaver
es moast likely kennelled in that bit o' snug fuzze
to the lew side of the stennack."

"Very well, we will draw that next and drop
back to Boswortha if we do not find," added Sir
Bevil as he rode away to give instructions to the
huntsman.

"Come ust on, Jim, best foot foremost, or the
draw'll be over afore we get theere." They gained
the crest of a rise overlooking the cover just as the
huntsman, who was now afoot with the hounds
around him, was about to draw it.

" Wheere ded ee light on they theere prents of the
fox, An'rew ? "

" Do eesaa thet big bunch o' rooshesanigh the
pool, away ahead of the rock touchin' the Squire ? "

" Iss sure."

"Well, they're close handy to un, laystwise I reckin
so : 'twas by the furst glim o' day I seed 'em."

Below them lay a stretch of marshy ground fed
by some bubbling springs. Rills trickled along
channels in the peaty ground, sparkling here and
there between tussocks of rush and withered grass.

22 THE FOX-HUNT

losing themselves in a vivid green patch that fringed
a chattering trout-stream. On the higher side,
nestling under shelter of a craggy ridge, was about
an acre of furze with a big dimple in it where yellow
blooms lingered.

The scarlet coats of the riders gave a few dashes
of warmth to the grey expanse of boulder-strewn
moor.

Sir Bevil watched the hounds as they drew up
wind, the big chestnut with its pricked ears seem-
ing as intent as his rider. Their shadow lay
almost motionless aslant the lichen-covered rock.
The working of the pack was easily seen, save
where the ground dipped around a pool or boggy
growth luxuriated. Flushed by hound or crack of
whip, a woodcock rose and dropped in some withes
a furlong away. Still there was no sign of the fox,
no view holloa, not a whimper. The idler hounds
lapped the tempting water, seemingly heedless of
the huntsman's voice.

" I'm afeard o' my saul 'tes blank, Jim ; hounds
don't saam to maake nawthin' of un."

" Nawthin' at all, scent's gone along wi' the
frost. But don't ee go and upset yoursel' about et,
'tes noane of your fault."

Amongst the members of the hunt, disposed

THE FIND 23

in little groups behind Sir Bevil, the green of the
bog and the gleam of the rippling water showing
between them, expectation drooped, and the little
cares of life that a whimper would have kept to the
crupper, seizing their opportunity, began to steal
back to their owners.

The doctor's eyes wandered to the lonely cottage ;
the shipowner found himself thinking of the fall in
freights, the miner of the drop in tin ; and even the
red-whiskered farmer was wondering whether the
ten-score pig hanging by the heels in his outhouse
would fetch 4fd. or 5d. a Ib. on the next market
day.

Suddenly Troubadour, the most reliable hound
of the pack, threw up his nose as he whiffed the
tainted air.

" He's got un, Jim. See how eh crosses the
line o' scent see-saw like. Tend upon et, 'tes a find."

The hound now left the edge of the cover near
the bog and worked round its upper side. Losing
the scent he came back, recovered it, threw his
tongue and dashed into the brake.

"Thet's what I do caal rason in a dog,"
whispered Andrew, whilst his restless eyes watched
every point of escape for a view of the fox.

In a moment the pack rallied to the trusted

24 THE FOX-HUNT

voice of Troubadour, and the furze was soon alive
with waving sterns.

"What moosic, Jim ! Look out, slyboots '11 be
gone in a twinklin'."

"Theere's the fox staling away along by them
theere brembles."

" I caan't see un," said Roscruge. And truly
none but a trained eye like Andrew's, which saw a
suspicion of brown here and a tell-tale movement
of tangled growth beyond, could mark the course
of the sly varmint. It had eluded the gaze of the
whippers-in. Grasping the situation, Andrew ran
to where he last saw the fox and gave a loud tally-
ho.

Then all was stir : the field seemed electrified.
Shipowner, miner, farmer, ay and squire, parson,
soldier and whipper-in, each forgot his worries—
for who has none ? — and black care lay in the wake
of the hunt.

" Lor', how they do race," said Andrew as the
hounds, with a burst of music, streamed across the
heather. "The fox is maakin' for cleff. Desperate
plaace thet ; but as luck will have et the tide is out."
The hunt was now lost to view, but with his hand
raised to shade his eyes he kept looking towards
the Galver.

FULL CRY 25

"They're crossin' the sky line. Do ee see 'em,

J* •> "
im?

" Iss, and ef I baan't mistaken, the white hoss es
laast as usual."

Tregellas had been busy in the cattle-shed since
early morning, and now, having put a double feed
in the troughs and filled the racks with sweet-
smelling hay, was about to leave work and put on
his Sunday-best, after the custom of Feast Day,
that his appearance might do credit to his side of
the parish when he sauntered past the critical eyes
of the girls of Churchtown.

Just then Driver, who had been curled up in the
straw dreaming of summer days amongst the moor-
land cattle, pricked his ears, rose to his feet, jumped
the half-door, and barked furiously.

"What's thet?" said Tregellas as the music of
the pack awoke the echoes of the cliffs. " Why 'tes
the hounds in full cry sure 'nuff." Out of the byre
he rushed and climbed the turf rick near the pig's
crow, hoping to get a view of the hunt. The
passing chase was one of the few excitements of
his dull life ; and next to a sly glance at the girl of
his heart the sight of a fox before hounds was
what he loved most.

His eager eyes searched the rugged hillside and

D

26 THE FOX-HUNT

swept the open sward lying between it and the cliff.
A sea-gull skimming its pinnacled edge drew his
gaze that way. It was only for an instant ; yet
when he looked round again, the fox with an easy
stride was crossing the springy turf where in
summer thrift blooms, and discovering dips in the
ground where human eye found none, with lithe
movement was making for his earth near the foot
of the cliffs. " Lor', what a beety ! how eh do move
over the ground that steelthy like ! What a broosh !
Wonder ef he's the saame varmint as killed the
auld gander."

Thrice before the fox had stood before hounds,
and the last time he had but narrowly escaped with
his life. Less than a year ago, it was in the month
of March, they had found him on the sunny cliffs
where Lamorna overlooks the ocean, and the great
run he gave that day from sea to sea is still vivid
in the memory of the hunt.

This morning dawn had surprised him miles
away from his rocky stronghold. For hours before
daybreak he had lain in wait with glowing eyes
under the shelter of some rustling sedge that grew
amidst the waters of a pool, for wildfowl. His
listening ears caught the swish of their tantalising
wingbeats as skein after skein circled above his

THE FOX 27

lurking-place, but he had awaited in vain the splash
of widgeon or teal on the lane of water he had
opened in the thin ice as he swam to his "islet"
ambush. Hunger and expectation had kept him
there too long and, in the grey light that had
quenched the green fires of his eyes, chilled and
famished he had stolen away to the near brake,
and under its thickest furze-bush shunned those
hateful rays that jewelled the frosted spines above
his lair and gilded the crags between him and his
earth.

Scarcely had he curled himself up before the
tread of human steps made him cock his ears, and
when the Earthstopper bent over his clean-cut foot-
prints the ominous silence had brought him to his
feet. But as the footsteps died away he had settled
himself down again, and it was out of a deep sleep
that the warning voice of Troubadour had roused
him. Once more, like an outlaw, he was driven
forth under the eye of the wintry sun with hue and
cry behind him, conscious that his safety lay in his
own cunning and endurance and the stout heart
that had carried him through before.

As he crosses the sward there is nothing hurried
in his stealthy movements, despite the clamour in
his ears. He is not sure that his earth is open —

28 THE FOX-HUNT

more than once he had found it closed — so he is
husbanding his strength, and, if need be, every bit
of it will be doled out under the direction of his
vulpine brain in the attempt to outwit his enemies.
Some fifteen feet from the cliff a slab of rock — out-
crop of the granite formation beneath — brings back
to his memory a ruse that the old vixen had taught
him, when one August day at sundown she anxiously
led her playful litter up to the great world overlook-
ing their rocky nursery. This he at once decides
to put into practice.

So to the amazement of the open-mouthed
Tregellas he crosses and recrosses the rock as
he had seen her do, hoping thereby at least to
check his pursuers, if not to foil them alto-
gether.

Leaving the tangled lines of scent for the hounds
to unravel, he, by a single leap, reaches the verge
of the cliff and for an instant clings to its dizzy
edge as if to listen to the swelling cry, for his mask
is turned that way. Then, gathering himself for a
spring, with a whisk of his brush he is gone. This
was too much for the spellbound Tregellas, good
Methodist though he was : " Well, I'm dommed,
that taakes the fuggan."

The leading hounds were breaking through the

THE FEVER OF THE CHASE 29

furze at the foot of the hill, their voices ringing like
silver bells.

Flashing across the open they checked at the
rock, but only for a moment, and then, like an im-
petuous stream, poured down the cliff. Thither
Tregellas, loosing the dog he had been holding, ran
at the top of his speed and looked over. The
scene below stirred his Celtic blood. The pack,
with the fox a furlong ahead, was racing along the
narrow beach, till, reaching a jutting point, pursued
and pursuers took to the water and, skirting the
rocks, swam out of his sight.

Knowing the line the fox would probably take,
Tregellas, with the fever of the chase in his veins,
climbed the steep hill leading to the Deadman and,
though he bruised his knees through his corduroys,
gained at length the topmost stone of the cairn that
crowned it.

" Aal for nawthin'," he gasped as he overlooked
the stretch of silent moor beneath him. The only
sound of the hunt was the distant thud of hoofs
where the " field " galloped along the coast road.
Yet with quick, restless eyes he swept the waste as
from that very eyry a sparrow-hawk was wont to
do, watchful for the slightest sign. The echo
of the horn had kept hope alive, faint though it

30 THE FOX-HUNT

was, but now he has seen something which rivets
his gaze.

He is looking towards the lower side of the
moor, over the shoulder of which lies the sea, fringed
with surf where it frets the black precipice of a head-
land. He is watching a bird that flies close to the
stunted furze. The white of its plumage gleams as
the sun catches it. Threading the sinuous lanes
between the bushes, appearing at the distance almost
like the shadow of the overhanging magpie, is the
hunted game ; and though Tregellas cannot hear the
chattering of the bird, he knows that it is mobbing
the fox whose mask is set in the direction of Dead-
man. As his form comes well in view Tregellas
fancies that his stride is perhaps not quite so easy as
when he swung so lithely across the turf, and it may
be he was shaken by those terrible leaps adown the
jagged rocks where a whipper-in, a coastguard, and a
truant schoolboy are at this moment attending to two
crippled hounds. " Es eh failin' a bit, do ee think,
'Gellas ? " " Caan't hardly tell," said he, answering
the question put to himself. And then the hounds
heave in view. At what a pace they sweep over
the waste, how silently they are running ! With
anxious eyes he follows them as they cross the moor
above. " Dear life, they're niver headin' for Dead-

RUNNING FOR BLOOD 31

man, are 'em ? Iss . . . iss . . . wonder ef An'rew
stopped the eearth. . . . Hooray !" for standing on
tip-toe he saw the blurred pack swerve near the
heart of the haunted moor as though at that point
the fox had been headed.

" I knowed ee raather die in th' open nor go to
ground in that wisht auld plaace."

Then the field at full gallop passed before his
gaze. " Lor' a mercy, passon's bin and failed into
the bog," and he laughed as only a yokel can laugh.

Tregellas lingered until the desolate waste
swallowed up the hindmost of the field ; the circling
flight of a snipe being the only sign that the hunt
had swept across the moor.

The stout fox held bravely on ; but the pack,
racing for blood, with hardly a check, kept lessen-
ing his lead as moor and croft were left behind.

With what a crash of music they dashed through
the Forest Rocks and through the belt of pines to the
open heath beyond. Though death was ringing in
his ears there was the gallant fox struggling gamely
forward. Racing from scent to view they pulled
him down on the dead bracken below the now de-
serted cairn.

The huntsman, Squire Tremenheere and Sir
Bevil close behind him, galloped up in time to rescue

32 THE FOX-HUNT

the carcass from the ravenous pack. The who-
whoop was heard by the parson as he urged his
grey mare, mud to the girths, between the pine
boles. To him, when he came up, Sir Bevil handed
the mask ; the brush he had presented to the
Squire.

Late the same night the parson sat in his study
recording the incidents of the chase and, despite the
strains of " Trelawny " which reached his ears from
the " One and All " hard by, where Tregellas and
his friends were making merry, kept true to the
line of the fox and with graphic touches described
the run.

Closing the book, he returned it to the shelf
between the door and the pegs, where his hunting-
cap hung. Then for the first time that season he
took a map from its tin case and spread it on the
table. It was a map of West Penwith, and was
crossed by lines in all directions, reminding one of
threads of dodder on a furze-bush. Those thin red
lines represented the best runs of the hounds dur-
ing the five and thirty years he had followed
them. Having put on his spectacles, he dipped the
fine-pointed nib in the ink and, starting from near
the pool under Ding Dong, traced the run to the
adit at the foot of the cliffs. Why did he pause

THE PARSON IN DOUBT 33

there, why not let the pen skirt the coast and the
headland and cross the moor to Deadman ?

See ! there is another red line — a line that starts
at Lamorna Cliffs — which ends at the adit, and as
his eye wandered along the converging tracks he
was wondering whether the fox which gave that
great run from sea to sea was the one whose death
he had just recorded. That is why his hand dwelt
and why he raised his questioning eyes to the wall
facing him.

He could not be sure, and the fixed grin on the
fox's mask hanging between the cap and hunting-
crop did not help him.

CHAPTER III

FOX-HUNTING, AS IT WAS IN THE DAYS OF QUEEN BESS
Quoted from " Carew's Survey of Cornwall, 1565."

" BEASTS of venerie, persecuted for their cases, or
' dommage feasance ' are martens, squirrels, foxes,
badgers and otters. . . . The fox planteth his dwelling
in the steep cliffs by the sea side ; where he possess-
eth holds so many in number, so dangerous for ac-
cess, and so full of windings, as in a manner itfalleth
out a matter impossible to disseize him of that his
ancient inheritage. True it is, that sometimes
when he marcheth abroad on foraging to revictual
his ' male pardus ' the captain hunters, discovering
his sallies by their espyal, do lay their soldier-like
hounds, his born enemies, in ambush between him
and home, and so with har and tue pursue him to
the death. Then master reynard ransacketh every
corner of his wily sconce, and bestirreth the utmost
of his nimble stumps to quit his coat from their jaws.

34

THE SHIFTS OF THE FOX 35

He crosseth brooks, to make them lose the scent ;
he slippeth into coverts, to steal out of sight ; he
casteth and coasteth the country to get the start of
the way ; and if he be so met, as he finds himself
overmatched, he abidethandbiddeth them battle, first
sending the mire of his tail against their eyes in
lieu of shot, and then manfully closing at hand-
blows, with the sword of his teeth, not forgetting
the whiles to make an honourable retreat with his
face towards the enemy ; by which means having
once reached his fortress, he then gives the fico to
all that his adversaries can by siege, force, mine,
sword, assault, or famine, attempt against him."

CHAPTER IV
THE OTTER

TRACKING THE WILY VARMINT

WITH the putting aside of the lantern that had lit
his way through the winter's night Andrew's
thoughts turned to the otter. The mystery sur-
rounding the ways of this wild creature drew him to
it as buried treasure attracts the spade. " Ah, the
varmint ! " he used to say, " theere's no gettin' to the
bottom of un, he's thet deep and artful. The fox
valies hes broosh, but he's reckless, I tell ee, compared
along wi' the otter. Night and day, the restless
varmint's got a danger signal afore hes eyes."

The Earthstopper's words convey some idea of
the subtle and wary habits of this nomad of our
fauna, which conceals its existence so well that its
presence generally escapes observation in districts
where it is not hunted.

This is partly due to its having no conspicuous

ITS SUBTLE WAYS 37

holts like the fox or badger, being content in its
wanderings with such lodgings as stone drains,
hollow river banks and marshy hovers, all which
are as well known to the tribe of otters frequenting
a district as wayside camping-grounds are to the
gipsies.

In West Cornwall, where the sources of the
streams are but four or five miles from the sea, the
otters' quarters by day are, for the most part,
crevices and caverns in those mighty granite cliffs
that keep watch and ward over the Atlantic.

Thence it sallies out when the twilight of its
holt deepens into darkness, to raid the trout, and
fearful of couching inland, rarely fails to steal back
to its stronghold with the last shades of night,
vanishing from moorland and coombe like a spectre
before the dawn.

Tactics of this kind, well devised though they
are for the creature's safety, are fatal to sport ; and
as the meet at the lake drew near, Andrew kept
turning over in his mind how he could circumvent
them.

To induce an otter to lie up near this favourite
fishing-ground. Sir Bevil, who was a keen otter-
hunter, gave orders that, to keep the lake quiet, no
one but the Earthstopper was to go near it.

38 TRACKING THE WILY VARMINT

He, however, might have been seen there once
soon after daybreak, stealing noiselessly round the
margin as if he feared to awaken the spirit of the
place, bending over the sand of the little bays and
the skirts of the marshy ground to find track of the
game. Years of such work and the love for his
craft had so sharpened his keen, quick eyes that
the faintest trace of bird or beast could hardly
escape their restless glance. Not, however, until
he had made his way round the creeks and crept
under the rhododendrons fringing the bank, did he
light on the object of his quest.

The footprints were clearly marked on the bare
ground beneath the low branches, and impressed
the Earthstopper as he stooped to examine them
in the sombre light, not so much by their unusual
size as by a defect in one of the prints, showing
that the middle claw of one forefoot was missing.
This would make it easy for him to identify the
track and so aid him in finding out whether the
otter had gone down the coombe to the sea.

Few sportsmen looking down at the lake, in its
setting of wild hills, would dream that the poacher,
after its night's work, would trouble to seek the
shelter of some distant sea-cave rather than lie up
in the snug reedy hovers skirting the creeks.

TOL PEDN PENWITH.

[Face page 38.

THE TRACK IN THE PLANTATION 39

But the Earthstopper knew better. Too often
had he seen the hounds follow the trail of an otter
down to the edge of the tide, to feel sanguine that
it harboured near the lake. Already, indeed, he was
fearing, as he forced his way back through the wild
luxuriant growth, that it had returned to the cliffs.

How those cliffs haunted him ! Did he catch
sight of an otter's seal shortly before a meet, as
surely would the picture of the great granite walls
with their impregnable fissures and caverns obtrude
as it did then.

Leaving the lake, he followed its overflow down
the valley, examining the banks of the stream care-
fully, yet dreading to come across a trace of the
beast. You would have thought he had caught
sight of an adder, had you seen him start back when
he found the downward track in the low-lying planta-
tion under Castle Horneck. It was on the bank
just above a high waterfall which it would seem had
caused the creature to land, but from there to the
beach no trace could he find, though he spent hours
in the search. It was possible, he thought, that to
conceal its line of retreat, the wily creature might
have gone down to the sea along the bed of the
stream. This view would perhaps have gained on
him, but that in its lowest reach the sluggish water

40 TRACKING THE WILY VARMINT

nearly circles round a meadow, and the otter must
have taken, as is its wont, the short cut across the
neck of the bend, and in so doing must have left its
tracks in the marshy ground there.

Another solution occurred to him. It was by
no means improbable that the creature was laid up
in the plantation ; for not only does human foot
seldom disturb the sylvan quiet there, but in an
angle of the stream, just below the waterfall, under
a tall elm there is as inviting a hover as nature's
sappers can tempt the eye of otter with.

Floods have bared the gnarled and twisted roots
and hollowed out the ground behind them, so that
the backwater on the edge of the swirling stream
extends far under the bank, and is lost in the gloom
it casts. It was almost by chance that he discovered,
a few days before the meet, traces of the otter, that
left no doubt as to its line of retreat. He was
standing in the plantation at the time, aglow with
excitement from having seen the fresh seal of an
otter a little way above in Lezingey Croft, and debat-
ing with himself whether he should again follow the
stream to the sea, when his eye fell on some moist
marks that were fast drying and only visible in a
certain light, on a flat rock half hidden by creepers.
Faintest indication though it was, it furnished a clue

THE CLUE 41

to the line taken by an otter, and though there was
no trace of footprints in the gap in the boundary
wall above, the Earthstopper felt sure that the
poacher had within the hour passed up the hill on
its way to the Newlyn stream which flows down the
adjacent valley.

Thither he went at once, and after a long, fruit-
less search began to think, though against his
better judgment, that the otter, if it had reached
that stream, must have gone up the water towards
Buryas and not down towards the sea.

Fortunately he persevered, and there just below
a sudden bend, on a deposit of silt, was the cleanly-
cut footprint, showing the defect he had first noticed
under the bushes at the head of the lake. Before
him was convincing evidence of the difficulty of
tracking the creature he was pitting his brains
against, for its path on leaving the shelter of an
overgrown ditch lay among some wild iris whose
leaves met above, screening all the footprints but
the solitary one on the mud. This would have
been washed out had the mills up the valley been
thus early at work, and even as it was, a tiny wave
from time to time lapped the silt as if striving to
erase the tell-tale print. Holding back the flags to
get a clear view, the Earthstopper gazed long at

F

42 TRACKING THE WILY VARMINT

the beaten path, heedless of the brambles that tore
his fingers, or of the stream that swirled around his
feet.

1 ' The auld game es et, Maister Sloper ? laast night
a robbin' the trout, thes mornin' curled up saafe and
sound in the cleeves of the rocks. Ah, you rascal,
ef et keeps me up all night, I'll be even wyee yit."

On his way home Andrew called at the Castle
to report to Sir Bevil what he had seen, and to tell
him what he had made up his mind to do, namely,
to try and prevent the otter returning to the cliffs.

" I leave the matter in your hands, Andrew,"
said the Squire, " my only fear is that if it comes up,
and the chances are that it won't, it may wind you
in your hiding-place and be scared back. However,
you know best about that. You won't go over the
ground again, I suppose ? "

" No, sir, I shudden wonder ef I've bin wance
too often as et es ; but I couldn't keep away."

"Is it the seal of a good otter ? "

"The biggest I ever seed."

" Sorry to hear he's been in a trap ; you've no
idea, I suppose."

" Noane at all, sir."

All the way across the heather to his cottage,
Andrew thought of what the Squire had said, but

THE EARTHSTOPPER LAYS HIS PLANS 43

reflection did not shake the confidence he felt in his
plan. More than once, when he had lain hidden on
the bank of the stream, an otter had swum past
within a few feet of him without betraying the least
alarm. Of course, he had kept as still as death.
Almost in the twinkling of an eye the Earthstopper
can become as rigid as a rock, and so disarm the
suspicion of the shyest of wild creatures, provided
they don't get wind of him. He is in sight of his
cottage now, but he is still defending his plan against
the Squire.

"Well, 'spose the wust, say eh is skeared, what
do it matter ? Hee'd be back in they theere cliffs
long afore the hounds could come anist un, an' I'll
warn ee, with a bellyful of the Squire's trout."

Rightly or wrongly, he determined to try to head
the otter back, and even first to lie in ambush and
see it pass on its way to the lake. But where ?

It was this he was considering as he sat smok-
ing his pipe over a glass of beer in the parlour of
the " One and All," the morning before the meet.
Save for Vennie, who was curled up under the
window seat, he was all alone. Not that " Maddern "
men don't like a glass of beer, but the leisure hours
of an Earthstopper are not those of ordinary toilers ;
so that he had nothing to break in on his thoughts

44 TRACKING THE WILY VARMINT

but the tinkle of the blacksmith's anvil, and the clear
tenor voice of the parson who was trying over some
chants in his study behind the shrubbery. Sitting
there, the Earthstopper could see, as though it lay
spread before him, the tranquil lake, its tiny bays
and miniature headlands, the silver thread of the
stream as it flows through croft, woodland, orchard
and meadow on its way to the sea, and every over-
hanging tree and bordering bush.

What memories intruded on his thoughts as he
searched the banks for an ambush ! how vivid were
those of long ago !

In a patch of furze near the stepping-stones he
had found a long-tailed tit's nest when he was a lad ;
in the dark pool under the bridge a big trout had
carried away his hook and two strands of new gut ;
under the spray from the water falling from the
wheel, during the great flood, he had caught his
only salmon peal ; between the apple blossoms
that nearly kissed across the mill stream his young
eyes had first followed the flight of a king-
fisher.

Skipping the rising ground between the coombes,
he lit on the track on the silt, and instantly he re-
proached himself, as he had done again and again,
for having, in a moment of excitement, held the

THE EARTHSTOPPER'S AMBUSH 45

leaves of the iris and tainted them with human
scent.

At last he pitched on an ambush which seemed
likely to favour his vigil if the otter should chance
to come up, unless the moon should be clouded over,
or the wind chop round when the sun went down.

It lay on the bank of the stream midway be-
tween the lake and the plantation, and from it he
could command the otter's line of approach. Let it
not be thought, however, that he had no misgivings
about his ability to confine the wily varmint to the
lake, even should it pass him without suspecting his
presence. No one is more familiar with its resources
when danger threatens ; but the sting of past failures
and the wish to be even with the elusive creature,
above all, his anxiety to provide sport for the hunt,
urged him to attempt the almost impossible task he
had set himself. No doubt some will say he was
over zealous, and complain — and with some show of
reason — that he did not engage a score of helpers,
who could have formed a ring round the lake and
at a given signal have made noisy demonstrations.
Those who take this view would, of a surety, con-
demn him at once, did they but know the fame of
" Maddern " men for beating tin cans when the
bees are swarming.

46 TRACKING THE WILY VARMINT

The Earthstopper, it is true, did contemplate
calling in their aid, only however to dismiss the
idea from his mind ; not because of any dearth of old
kettles and pans, but through an experience of a
year ago at Marazion Marsh, since which disastrous
night — an otter broke through the line where two
men lay asleep — he has " thought slight " of Gulval
men, for all their skill in smelting tin and cutting
early broccoli. But this tale must be chronicled else-
where. There were, however, other allies on whom
he felt that he could depend, and these he meant to
make use of.

That afternoon, he paid a visit to Nute, the
huntsman ; and had you been standing by the smithy
at the corner of the village street when the school
children were going home, you would have seen
Andrew coming with leisurely stride along the lane
leading to the kennels, with a big lantern in each
hand, and the mouth of a hunting-horn lifting the flap
of the side pocket of his velveteen coat. He had
learnt to blow that horn as a kennel-boy, when he
was little bigger and less educated than the boys
that crowded round and plied him with questions.

Good-natured, if evasive, were his replies about
his use for the lanterns now that earthstopping was
long over.

THE OLD HUNTING-HORN 47

Slowly up the street past the chute, where a
woman was filling a pitcher, went the group, getting
smaller and smaller as the boys reached their doors,
until Andrew and Vennie were alone as they took
the footpath that led across the heather to his
cottage.

Over "a dish o' taa and a bit of saffern caake,"
he amused his grandchild with a tale of his boy-
hood, recalled by a dent in the old horn he had
placed on the ta~ble.

CHAPTER V
THE OTTER — Continued

THE EARTHSTOPPER'S VIGIL

THE sun had gone down over the cairn and night
had drawn its curtain across the lingering afterglow,
when the Earthstopper, with a lantern in each hand
and the hunting-horn in his pocket, set out for his
ambush in the bottoms.

He did not pass through the village, but reached
the park by an unfrequented path, and was soon
threading his way amongst the trees in front of the
Castle. The stars were out, and the moon, now at
its full, was climbing the cloudless vault and silver-
ing the countryside with its rays.

" Grand night, couldn't be better : wonder ef he's
on hes way up," said Andrew to himself as he
reached the furze-bush on the bank of the stream,
which he had chosen as a hiding-place. After con-
cealing the lanterns in a bed of nettles and looking

48

THE EARTHSTOPPER ENSCONCED 49

round to see that he was not observed, he forced
his way into the prickly bush and lay down at full
length. He was not quite hidden, though he
thought he was, as his bright hob-nailed soles pro-
jected a little, and nearly touched the edge of a foot-
bridge leading to a farmhouse whose gable showed
against the sky. To have a clear view of the
ground, with his clasp knife he cut two peepholes
in the furze, through which he could see the rough
track on his left and a smooth pool oh his right.
An ivy-clad ash cast a deep shadow on the stream
and track, but bright belts of lighted ground lay on
each side of it, and the pool shone like quicksilver.
Seldom does the footfall of wayfarer disturb the
silence of the spot at night. About ten o'clock,
however, a country housewife, returning late from
market, trudges past ; thoughts of cream neglected
during her absence, or of geese not securely housed
from the fox, hurrying her along despite the heavy
basket she carried. Luckily for her, Andrew has
got over a fit of sneezing, and she passes the bush
unconscious of his presence. When her footsteps
die away, night and its shy denizens claim the earth
for their own. A rabbit runs along the space between
the wheel-ruts and pauses for a moment on the

further bright space. To the Earthstopper its ears

G

50 THE EARTHSTOPPEITS VIGIL

are in a line with a big stone that holds the gate
leading into a rough meadow bordering the stream.
The rabbit has scarcely passed out of sight before
a stoat follows, like a murderer on the trail of his
victim, and is lost to view in the shadow of a hedge-
row. Nothing escapes the vigilant eyes of the
Earthstopper behind the furze screen, and his ears
are strained to catch any tell-tale sound along the
course of the stream. As yet there is no sign of the
otter, and every minute that goes by lessens the chance
of its appearing, for it is nearly midnight now and dawn
is but a few hours off. Wearying a little from the
strain of his vigil and his cramped quarters the old
man begins to fear that the poacher may not be com-
ing, and again it makes him as " vexed as fire " to
remember the iris and the huge print on the silt.

All at once he becomes alert. Nothing has
darkened the lighted space but the tiny shadow of
a circling bat : not a ripple has broken the silvery
surface of the pool. What can it be that has
wrought this sudden change ?

The cry of a moorhen, startled from her nest
among the sags some two furlongs down stream ;
and if we may judge from his state of excitement,
the Earthstopper must feel pretty confident that
the otter is the cause.

THE OTTER 51

At dusk the otter had left his holt near the
base of Cairn Dhu. Ravenous after the long day's
fast, he hurried down the steep face of the rock,
and reaching a ledge which the waves lashed, dived
through the surf in quest of his prey. The sea
teemed with fish, but a ground-swell that stirred the
bottom and discoloured the water baffled his attempts
to seize them. A greyhound might as well have
hoped to catch a hare in a fog as the otter to
capture peal in the cove or turbot on the sandy
bottom near the" Bucks. Ever vigilant against
such raids, the fish were only scared by the dreaded
and indistinct form of the marauder as he glided
past them in the clouded depths. Convinced at
length of the hopelessness of his efforts, the otter
landed on the Mermaid Rock to consider where he
should go to get his supper. He is within reach
of two streams and the lake ; and their waters are
as clear as crystal. Lamorna stream is close at
hand ; but the trout, owing to frequent raids on
them since the gale, are very wary. Newlyn stream
is some four miles away, and attracts him because
of its larger fish ; but what appeals to him most is
the lake with its bright Loch Levens, then in the
pink of condition. It was several days since he
feasted on them, for the taint of human scent on

52 THE EARTHSTOPPER'S VIGIL

the iris had alarmed him ; but, as he rested on the
rock, hunger proved stronger than fear, and despite
the distance he decided to go there, fully intending
to be back in some coast fastness before dawn. By
skirting the base of the cliffs, and running along
the shore where a beach invited him, he at length
reached the mouth of Newlyn stream. There was
nothing to arouse his suspicions : the last loiterer
had left the old bridge, candles were out, and the
moonlit village lay wrapped in slumber. Passing
under the arch, the otter stole up the coombe,
keeping to the shadows of the bushes that fringed
the stream. Within winding distance of the clump
of iris he paused, but detecting no taint, passed
between the flags, made his way up the hill, and
dropped down to the Lareggan stream, on the
bank of which the Earthstopper lay in ambush.
Threading his way among the reeds at the upper
end of the mill pool, he disturbed the moorhen, but
heedless of her cry, crossed the stream, and pressed
on at his best pace towards the lake. A few
moments later — for the creature's progress was
rapid — the Earthstopper, who has been shifting his
glance from track to pool, becomes as rigid as the
stems about him. His gaze is fixed on a shadowy
patch, no bigger than your hand, under the lowest

THE OTTER PASSES THE AMBUSH 53

bar of the gate. He has not a doubt that it is the
mask of the otter, for a minute ago that patch was
not there. He tries to make out its long body, but
the bars, and the shadows they cast, conceal it.
What dread of its enemy the beast must have, to
hesitate thus on the skirt of this rude track in the
depth of night! It cannot be that it winds the
Earthstopper, for the breeze that rustles the leaves
of the ash, fans his flushed face, and stirs his bushy
eyebrows. At length the creature comes noiselessly
across the open space, as if making for the furze-
bush, the moonbeams catching the glossy hair on
its arched back, and lighting the dust it raises.
Human eye has never seen it before, so well has it
kept the secret of its existence. In the shadow of
the tree it is almost lost to view, and then as it
brushes past the furze, the Earthstopper gets a
glimpse of its long glistening whiskers, and is sorely
tempted to lay hold of its trailing tail. Why it did
not wind him is, like other mysteries of scent,
beyond the power of explanation.

Far from being scared back as the Squire
feared, the otter, unconscious of a lurking foe,
pursues its way to the lake. Not for some minutes
does the Earthstopper back out of his ambush.
"What a beety! ef I can only keep un up, we shall

54 THE EARTHSTOPPEITS VIGIL

see summat to-day: ef!" says he under his quick
breath as he brushes himself down with his hands.
Then he lights his clay pipe and tries to calm
himself, for he has seldom been more excited.
Unable to stand still, he walks up and down the
grassy bank above the footbridge, as a sailor
paces to and fro on a jetty, only more hurriedly.
It is nothing but his nervousness that makes him
puff so vigorously at the 'baccy, that stops him
every few minutes to listen. Not a mouse may
move in the hedge or a cricket chirp in the crofts
above without his thinking it is the otter returning,
though the raider is at the time seeking its prey in
the depths of the lake and spreading terror amongst
its finny tenants.

At length tired of his pacings, the Earthstopper
feels that he must be doing something towards
keeping the otter up. So he gets the two lanterns,
stinging his fingers as he gropes for them. Notice,
as he lights them, the change in his face since we
saw him sitting over his tea. Had he committed
a crime he could scarcely look more agitated. Even
his uncertain stride as he moves along the track
betrays his disquietude, and the blind way he
stumbles over the wall of the croft is as unlike him
as the smothered oath he vents on the unoffending

THE LIGHTED LANTERNS 55

stones. One lantern he suspends from a rude
granite slab spanning the stream, so that it hangs
within a few inches of the rippling water. The
other he fastens to a branch of a blackthorn on the
far side of the croft. This done he climbs a mound
amidst the furze and looks towards the lake now
barely a furlong away. The surface is like a sheet
of silver. No glimpse of living creature does he
get, no sound reaches his ears but the voice of the
fall and the song of a sedge-warbler. Retracing
his steps he takes up a position on the rugged
slope near the corner of the park.

It was close on two o'clock, judged by the stars,
before he took the horn from his pocket. He might
well have postponed blowing it a little while, but he
could stand the strain of waiting no longer. Only by
great self-restraint had he prevented himself from
beginning an hour earlier ; for more than once he
thought he heard the otter breaking back, and each
time his trembling hand had sought the horn. It
was a relief to him when at last he raised it to his
lips.

Now the Earthstopper is deep-chested and
sound of lung, and he was so fearful that the otter
might not hear the notes, that he blew with needless
vigour and frequency. How groundless his fears

56 THE EARTHSTOPPEITS VIGIL

were! In the stillness those blasts were heard for
miles. So near did they seem to old Jenny at the
park gates that she thought they came from the
plantation behind the lodge. The Earthstopper
had not handled a hunting-horn since his boyhood,
much less blown one in the dead of night ; and it
never entered his head that his noisy proceed-
ings could alarm the countryside and lead to a
breach of the peace between his harmless neigh-
bours. But so it was. Presently he heard the
door of the farmhouse violently slammed. " Hullo,
T'wheela's movin' early thes mornin'." Certainly,
unless the farmer suspected that a poaching hedge-
hog was the cause of the falling off in the cow's
milk, it was early for him to be moving.

Old Jenny and farmer Trewheela, however, are
by no means the only persons in the parish roused
by the untimely music, which had made the Squire's
hunters prick their ears and set all the cocks a-crow-
ing. " Maddern " Churchtown is less than a mile
away as sound travels, the wind was not unfavour-
able, and the notes of the horn were so penetrating
that the Earthstopper might nearly as well have
been serenading the villagers from the heaping
stock of the "One and All." Little wonder that
the heavy sleepers were turning under their blankets

THE VILLAGERS AND THE CONSTABLE 57

before he had been blowing many minutes, and that
the old men were lifting their stiff limbs out of bed
and opening their windows.

"What be et, Jim?" said the parish clerk,
whose white-nightcapped head was set in a frame-
work of thatch, to a silver-haired veteran across the
narrow street.

" Caan't saay, I'm sure. Ef et happened when I
wore a boay I should ha' ben afeerd that Boney
had landed."

Toot, toot, toot. " He's goin' for'n braave an'
no mistake. Wonder who eh es ? "

Toot, toot, toot.

By this time heads were sticking out of all the
upper windows save one behind which a poor woman
lay sick.

In the street below, Trudger, the constable,
whom the first blast of the horn had stricken with
the trembles, was now parading as if the incessant
tooting were as ordinary an occurrence as the mid-
night chiming of the village clock.

" Well, doan't ee hear nawthin' ? " said the parish
clerk, taking upon himself, in the absence of the
parson, the duty of spokesman. Toot, toot. " Iss,
iss, I hear un right enuf. 'Tes no business o'
mine, 'tes outside my beat." Toot, toot, toot. " Tes

H

58 THE EARTIISTOPPER'S VIGIL

in the corner o' the park, I tell ee, down below the
bastion. I'm sartin on et."

" No tedn, 'tes over in Paul parish."

" Ain't afeerd of the auld Squire and his hounds,
are ee ? " said a woman with a shrill voice. "I'll
come wy ee ef thee art."

At length the constable, stung by many taunts,
was driven out by the force of upstairs opinion, and
set off at the rate of about two miles an hour, to
show that he was not to be hurried.

Thus it chanced that the farmer and the con-
stable, attracted by the same cause, but impelled by
different motives, were approaching the Earthstopper
from opposite directions. Trewheela's naturally
high temper was not sweetened by his sudden
awakening out of a dream in which he found him-
self selling basket after basket of butter at half-a-
crown a pound, and the way he strode across his
bridge augured badly for the disturber of the peace
if the farmer could set hands on him.

Hearing him coming, the Earthstopper, on
whom the truth slowly broke, blew a stirring blast
— for was there not the otter to be kept up ? — and
hid himself where, without being seen himself, he
could see what should happen. In a very few
minutes Trewheela was standing on the very spot

THE FARMER AND THE CONSTABLE 59

from which the tooting had seemed to come, and a
casual observer might have thought from the eager
way he looked here, there, and everywhere, that he
was mightily taken by the landscape. The scene
was indeed very beautiful, and chastened as it was
by the silvering rays it would have calmed many a
savage breast. It worked no soothing effect on the
farmer, whose anger at not finding the offender
became unbounded. He regretted that he had not
brought his sheep-dog as well as a horse-whip. In
all the impotence of baffled rage he stood still under
the shadow of a tree, but to his great relief soon
heard someone stealing along the other side of the
thick-set hedge which separated him from the park.
"Ah, the'rt theere, arta, Maister Boogler? Out of
breeth with blawin', are ee ? Thee'll be singin' a
defrant toon in a minit, I reckon," he whispered to
himself with malicious delight as his hand tightened
on the handle of the whip. Within a few yards of
where he had been standing was a narrow gap ; and
the farmer, who was moving as stealthily as his
unlaced boots would permit, at the same pace as the
constable, in making for the gap nearly trod on
Andrew's head. We will not, however, dwell on the
feelings of the latter, for the constable, undignified as
is the way he is being stalked, claims our attention.

60 THE EARTHSTOPPEfTS VIGIL

He has had a terrible time since leaving the
village. Half-way down the long avenue he heard,
or thought he heard, a light footfall as of one pur-
suing him. The more he hurried his steps, the more
distinctly he heard it, and the closer it seemed to
be. Near the haunted terrace, just past the marble
statue, the thing, whatever it was, was all but on
him, and he felt inclined to scream. There was
another way out of the difficulty, and this he
took. As fast as "regulation" boots could carry
him, athwart the great park he fled to the one
outlet he knew of except the road he came by.
Breathless with his efforts he is following the hedge
to find the gap. The farmer is already crouching
there.

On the scuffle that followed there is no need to
dwell. Little is known of it, as the combatants have
never opened their mouths on the subject, and
Andrew confesses to being so overcome that tears
filled his eyes and prevented him from seeing through
the hedge which of the two was oftenest uppermost.
The combat was too furious to last long, and the
opponents rose to their feet after a short time ; but
not before the farmer, who had by this worked off
some of the rage that blinded him, had caught the
glint of the constable's buttons.

VISIONS OF BODM1N GAOL 61

" What ded ee haave to me with that there whip
for ? " said the constable gasping for breath.

"I'll tell ee what for. Dust a think I be goin'
to have me skull scat abroad wi' that theere troon-
shun of yourn ? "

" I must do me dooty, an' I shud like to knaw
what you'm a' doin' hereabouts disturbin' the paace
of the parish."

" What do ee maan ? I heerd a most ghastly
noise down in the bottoms, an I've coomed out in
the middel of the night to see what et es. The
scoundrel what maade that unearthly row ought to
be thrashed, an' I took thee for un. What was ee
a doin' crawlin' like a rabbot down the hedge like
this here" — he imitated the movement of the con-
stable— " ef thee's nawthin' to do with et ? "

Despite his attempt to put the constable in the
wrong there was a distinct change in the tone of his
voice ; for visions of Bodmin gaol floated before his
eyes. Fortunately both saw that the least said
would be the soonest mended ; and after all, as the
farmer would be able to recover his boots at day-
break, the only damage done was to the constable's
helmet.

"Well, look here," said the farmer, "summons
me ef thee's got a mind to, but thee'll be the laafin'

62 THE EARTHSTOITER'S VIGIL

stock of the court. Semmen to me, we've made
fools won of t'other ; but what I do waant to knaw
es, who the devil have been too — tooting ef et edden
thee ? — Who es eh ? and wheere be un gone to ? "

" Dedn thee saa no wan ? "

"No wan but thee."

"Well, I've had my own mispicions about who
eh es from the furst."

" Who do ee maan ? "

" Don't et strike ee who eh might be ? " said the
constable in a chilling whisper.

"No," was the whispered reply, after a pause.

" Who do ee maan ? "

" Ded ee ever hear tell ef the auld Squire blawed
the horn ? "

" Man alive, I niver thought o' thet. Moast
likely you'm right. Moore nor wance my auld
woman has wok' me up in the dead of night to listen
to cry o' hounds. Passel o' nonsonce, I'd say, but
'pend upon et her heerd summat."

" Good Lor ' ! wha — what's thet glidin' along by
they theere trees ? "

"Wheere? wheere? Lor' a mercy. I'm turned
cold as a quilkan a' moast. Feel my hand."

The Earthstopper was biting a bit of furze to
prevent himself from exploding with laughter, and

IN FULL FLIGHT 63

fearing he could control himself no longer he re-
solved to give them- a toot on the horn and to trust
to their state of perturbation for a satisfactory
issue.

At a distance of fifteen paces he blew such a blast
as otter or hound has seldom heard.

For a moment farmer and constable were rooted
to the spot, then together they took the gap, but
that being small for two big men, they struggled as
violently to get clear of one another as a few minutes
before they had struggled to come to close quarters.
Though convulsed where he lay, the Earthstopper
heard the farmer banging at his door, for his wife
had locked him out for her own safety.

A crash of glass which followed drowned the gasps
of the constable as he bounded along Boscathna
Lane, scaring the villagers who had come out to see
the fun.

" Well, ef that doan't keep the otter up," said
Andrew, " nawthin' will"; and gathering up the
lanterns and putting the horn in his pocket, he re-
turned home the way he came.

CHAPTER VI
THE OTTER — Continued

THE OTTER AT THE LAKE

THE otter had just landed on the island to eat his
last trout before returning to the cliffs, when the
first blast of the horn fell on his ears. Instantly
the fish dropped from his jaws as though it seared
them. It is true that he had heard that penetrating
note a few months before when the foxhounds were
drawing the cliffs, and, indeed, a far more hideous
noise from the siren of a steamer whose hull, during
a fog, loomed vaguely within sight as he peeped
through a crevice of his holt ; but at these times the
ocean lay only four or five fathoms below him, and,
conscious of his safety, he had curled himself up
again and stopped his small ears with his paws.
Far different are his feelings as he crouches under
the pampas grass, peering across the lake in the
direction of the Earthstopper. He is quite sure

THE OTTER RETREATS 65

that his enemy knows at last of his existence and of
his present whereabouts, and that the tooting is
meant to alarm him and cut off his retreat to the
sea. Unnerving though the noise is, he decides at
once what to do. No thought of seeking shelter
near the lake hampers his resolve to break through
to the cliffs. His powers of stealth and phantom-
like movements are all in his favour, and surely
he will succeed in his purpose. Noiselessly he
dives, silently he leaves the water, and steals over
the bank to the dark channel below the moon-
lit fall, with lithest movements he slips over the
shallows into the pools, his long supple body twist-
ing and turning with the sudden bends of the narrow
stream. In his great hurry he is nearly on the
light ere he can check himself, for the lantern hung
below a sharp angle and a flowering fern hid its rays.
Quick as lightning, he whips round again, be-
traying his alarm by breaking the water. Leaving
the stream some thirty yards above he makes his
way aslant the furzy croft to outflank the flickering
flame, but oh, horror! again a terrifying light is
there behind a thick bush awaiting him. He re-
treats in earnest this time. Ignominious conduct,
it cannot be gainsaid, for a creature with the jaws
of a bull-dog, for a creature heedless of the fiercest

66 THE OTTER AT THE LAKE

lightnings or of the phosphorescent glow of the
waves, and tolerant of the glare of the midsummer
sun when basking on the rocks at the foot of the
towering cliffs. He is not, however, at the end of
his resources. Stay at the lake he will not, and why
should he ? There are other avenues of escape. In
the next valley there is a stone drain, very safe,
though close to a lonely homestead, and he may
possibly reach it before dawn. He knows too well
that there is no time to lose, so leaving the lake he
hurries up the hill and gains the crest of the cairn
without mishap. Now why, when every moment
is precious, does he dwell in that clump of bracken
near the Giant's Cradle ? and at what object can he
be peering so intently through the fronds ? Does a
lantern's light confront him ? or is it, perhaps, the
flame of a candle shining from the keeper's window
in the clearing amidst the pines ?

It is no paltry glimmer behind a pane of glass,
that holds him there. Afar off, in the cleft between
two dark hills, lines of vermilion streak the amber
East.

Full well the otter knows these harbingers of
the sun that will expose him to the eye of man,
whose voice he dreads, whose footfall he shrinks
from, whose smell taints the air and chills the blood.

DAWN 67

He turns his lissom head and looks back at the
valley of terror. The deep-cut bottom lies in gloom.
Banks, creeks, island and marsh invite him to their
dusky shelter. He can discern tree, bush, reed-bed
and the sinuous outline of the placid lake, as he
shifts his gaze from blot to blot of darkest umbrage.
Differences of shade there are, but not a vestige of
colour, save on the dome of a giant pine, the hue of
which awakes as he gazes. Instantly the faint
green flush catches his eye, and to the East he turns
his mask again : " umph ! " the rim of the sun shows
in the trough of the hills : it is day. Even then he
dreads to return to the lake ; after all it is early for
man to be stirring and he may reach the drain un-
seen. Skirting the plantation he slinks along lanes
in the boulder-strewn gorse, gains the edge of the
waste land, and looks over. A cow is grazing in the
rough pasture that runs up to it. He can smell her
sweet breath, but he does not fear her. He is about
to jump from the wall down on the grass and creep
along a ditch leading to the drain. "Shepboay."
It is the shout of the crofter he hears, and then the
dog comes through the open gate and runs up the hill
towards the spot where he is crouching. The cow
takes little notice of the noisy lurcher, but the otter
steals back along his own tracks towards the cairn.

68 THE OTTER AT THE LAKE

The garish hues of furze bloom, lichen and pine
stem, the dewdrops that jewel every blade, disconcert
the belated wildling of the night, as with reluctant
steps he steals towards the lake whose shelter
instinct has warned him to shun. It is true that
he knows its wild surroundings well, its hollow
banks, its reedy hovers ; and this knowledge brings
him such solace as familiar fastnesses bring an
outlaw expecting hue and cry after him. How he
wishes, as he decides where to lie up, that the valley
contained one impregnable stronghold, a network
of forgotten drains, a clitter of rocks, a labyrinth of
half-flooded mine-workings. He has reached the
foot of the hill, and is stealing like a shadow down
the strand of a little bay athwart which lies a fallen
tree. Look ! he is scrambling over the trunk : now
he has dived. You will not see him again, watch
you ever so intently. Without once coming up to
vent he has crossed the lake some sixty yards in width
and entered, by a submerged hole in the trunk, the
hollow willow on the bank opposite. It is night
in there save for the ray which shoots through a
crevice of his sanctuary, and glows and fades at the
will of the trembling leaves outside. The valley is
awakening. The sunbeams that slant over the
lichened cairn now bright as with outcropping gold,

JOYOUS DAY 69

bathe stem, leaf and petal, and dance on the rippled
surface of the lake. Hushed, indeed, are the weird
voices of night ; but from spinney and brake come
the songs of finch and warbler, moor-hens call
amongst the reeds, doves coo in the pines, and a
robin sings on a branch of the willow. Even the
midges, inspired by the joy that moves all creatures
at the return of brightsome day, have resumed
their gambols around the gladdening ray up in the
turret of the otter's lair. Why, look ! the old vixen,
who had been puzzled at the midnight tooting, lies
blinking at the mouth of her earth under the gnarled
pine on the sunny slope above ; but fear possesses
the otter as it never did before. Five years ago —
he was a cub then — the footfall of a coastguard on
the cliff above awoke in him the sense of fear, and
from that night he had never been able to throw off
the dread of man that haunted him, that made him
steal abroad at dusk and lie hidden by day. Yet
man had never injured him — it was in a life-and-
death struggle with a huge conger that he lost his
claw — as far as he knew, man had never seen him.
But fear was his heritage as it was the price of his
freedom. As he lies curled up against the sloping
trunk of the willow he gets a glimmering of what
had been a mystery to him — how it was that some

70 THE OTTER AT THE LAKE

of his tribe had disappeared from their haunts, and
why he had failed to find the skittish little otter
with whom he had mated, though he had sought
her everywhere around the coast and along the
streams. A vague apprehension of impending
danger kept him awake, and before the sun was
high in the heaven he knew all.

CHAPTER VII

THE OTTER — Continued

THE HUNT

THE Earthstopper, having snatched a little sleep
in his arm-chair, has returned to the lake to await
the hounds. There he is, sitting on the fallen tree
over which the otter passed three hours ago. Its
footprints are marked on the sand between the
lines of drift that tell of dwindling springs on
the moorland, and of the winds that ruffled the
sinking lake. In shape, the three acres of water
resemble the shadow of a hand with outstretched
fingers. The rhododendrons cover the triangle of
ground between the narrow channel of the inflow
and the creek next it ; the fingers of stagnant water
are fringed with reeds. The old man is wondering
where the otter, if it has not returned to the cliffs,
may be lying up. His eyes wander to the likely

72 THE HUNT

places ; to the island, to the hollow banks, to the
clump of bushes, to the reed-bed over which a mist
hangs, half veiling the blush of morning on the
stems of the pines beyond. He does not waste a
glance on the bare bank opposite, or its solitary
willow whose tender green foliage stands out
against the sombre hillside. Turning his head he
sees the hounds coming down the hill below the
cairn. They are not very wide of the line taken
by the otter at dawn. Only a small field is out.
With Sir Bevil, who carries the horn, are the
parson, the doctor, and half a dozen others, keen
sportsmen all of them. Following in their wake
are old Sir Lopes and Nute the huntsman. Let
me introduce the pack to you. Those rough-haired
hounds are Taffy and Gellert ; the foxhounds are
Troubadour, Merlin, Cunoval, Vivien, Dawnsman,
Padzepaw, Sweetlips, Jollyboy, Bucca, and Doz-
mary. Better hounds never drew for an otter ; but
the terriers are the wonder of this little pack. The
one running alongside Dozmary is Vixen, who
never finds a drain too long or too wet. What
battles she has fought underground, her scarred
head testifies. Then there is Venom. She is in
her usual place at Sir Bevil's heels. A treasure
she is, for she can dive and enter the submerged

DRAWING THE LAKE 73

mouth of a drain, and many an otter has she thus
dislodged from its holt.

"Well, Andrew," said Sir Bevil, "did the otter
come up ? "

"Yes, sir."

" Did you manage to keep him up ? " This with
a smile, for he too had heard the midnight tooting.
" I hope so, but there's no knowin', he's bin
heere," said he, pointing to the tracks on the
sand.

At that moment Jollyboy hits the line of the
otter, throws his tongue and, jumping the fallen
tree, takes to the water. The rest of the pack
follows, Sir Bevil cheering them on. Swimming
close to the bank, they make for the head of the
lake, the valley resounding with their music as they
pick up the scent left by the otter in his night's
fishing. They are a pretty sight as they skirt the
wall of pale green reeds fringing the nearest creek
and leave the water to enter the yielding cover.
Evidently the varmint has not been there, for
excepting the sing-song voices of the Welsh hounds,
the pack is silent. Leaving the reed-bed they
cross the furthest creek and are lost to sight under
the dense rhododendron bushes. From there the

few otters found at the lake have been "put down,"

K

74 THE HUNT

and the field is on the tiptoe of expectation. But
expectations are seldom realised in otter-hunting.
Not a sound comes from the dark green thicket
except the cheery voice of Sir Bevil, for even Taffy
and Gelert throw their babbling tongues no longer.
Andrew's heart sinks within him as the hounds
issue from the tenantless bushes and make across
the inflow towards the opposite strand. But why
dwell on his disappointment, 'now that the united
pack — for Troubadour and Jollyboy have swum
over from the island and joined the others — are
only a good stone's throw from the willow ? To all
appearance, they might nearly as well expect to
find an otter on an open beach. True, there are a
few bits of hollow bank, but the eye can safely
pronounce them blank at a glance, and as for the
tree, it looks as solid as an oak. "Terribly slow
this," says one of the field to his neighbour ; may
be it is so for him ; but it is an anxious moment for
the listening varmint, whose forepaws, the water,
disturbed by the approaching pack, is beginning to
lap. He is not kept long in suspense. Dawns-
man's bell-like note proclaims the find, and the next
moment the frantic pack is baying round the willow.
Unable to get at the quarry, the hounds swarm
round the half-submerged trunk, pawing the bark in

THE FIND 75

their helplessness ; but the otter does not budge. It
is not fear that holds him there. He is bristling with
rage and ready to do battle for his life, but only by
compulsion will he leave his sanctuary. Not one
of the field is up to thunder at his walls with an
otter-pole ; but Venom, ever at hand, dives and at
last finds the entrance, more than a foot below the
surface. The otter sees the head of the terrier as
it fills the hole, sees it rising through the dark
water. " Yap, yap," followed by a short, sharp
scuffle ; and the next moment the parson, who has
hurried to the spot, views the chain of bubbles
which betrays the escape of the game. A loud hew-
gaze — what lungs the parson must have ! — sends a
thrill through the field, who have already posted
themselves at different points around the lake. Not
an eye is turned on the hounds, now following the
game, not an ear heeds their music ; no, every
one, even old Nute himself, who loves the hounds
and has come out to see them work, is watching
the rippled surface ahead to get a view of the wily
varmint when he vents. As if disdaining the
shelter of the banks, the otter comes up in mid-lake
and floats there like a log, the water flush with his
long back and his beadlike eyes gleaming in the morn-
ing light. " A grand beast," says the doctor with-

76 THE HUNT

out taking his eyes off it. Yes, he is in the full
pride of his great strength and without the help of
the field ; the pack, good as it is, would never tire
him out. His back is towards the clamorous hounds,
and surely they will seize him ; but no, just as Dawns-
man draws near, he dives, leaving a swirl behind
him. When he comes up again he is not thirty
yards from the fall. It were tedious to relate every
detail of the hunt which went on for the next four
hours, during which the hounds, aided by the hew-
gazes of the field, never give the quarry any rest.
At the end of that time the otter, somewhat ex-
hausted by repeated dives, which have been getting
shorter and shorter, lands on the island. Little
respite does he get, for Padzepaw and Jollyboy, find-
ing him there, make him take to the water again,
but at the expense of frightful wounds. Then it is
that Andrew gets a good view of the creature as he
seeks the shallows and swims close to the sandy
bottom. With his forepaws lying against his body
he is propelling himself with his hind feet. His
movements are too. rapid for the Earthstopper to see
this, and like a fleeting shadow the graceful creature
is lost in the dark water. It next lands on the
muddy margin of the near creek and rests on a
mass of drift lying there. Old Nute is looking down

THE OTTER DISAPPEARS 77

at the fine beast over the reeds. The pack is nearly
on him before he dives, but by swimming down the
lake and doubling he succeeds in throwing off the
hounds and gaining the shelter of the rhododendrons
unobserved. A few minutes' breathing-space only
does he get before Merlin, Dozmary and Vivien
discover his whereabouts. Smarting from their
wounds, for all three of them have been gripped by
the otter and taken to the bottom of the lake, they
hesitate to attack the infuriated beast as he crouches
there, grinning and showing his blood-stained teeth.
Not so Vixen ; the moment she arrives she flies at
him and, the hounds closing in at the same time, a
terrible conflict ensues. Badly mauled though he
is, the formidable beast fights his way through his
foes, gains the water and dives with Vixen fastened
to him. The terrier comes up after a time, but the
otter disappears as if by magic. Baffled of their
quarry, the maddened hounds draw nearly every
hover, except the insignificant one near the willow
where the otter is resting with just his nostrils out
of water. Old Sir Lopes sees him there ; but he
keeps the secret, though with some misgiving, to
himself. Forty years ago he would have shouted
himself hoarse ; but somehow he cannot give the
hunted beast away this morning. Knowing how it

78 THE HUNT

must end if he keeps to the lake, the otter resolves
to try and steal away across country to the Newlyn
stream. It is a desperate way out of the straits he
is in, for it will probably mean death in the open ;
but there is just the chance that he may reach the
safe drain below Buryas Bridge if he can only slip
away unnoticed. But how is this possible ? The
space between him and the gulley that seams
the steep rise by the ice-house is covered with
turf that rabbits have nibbled close. Uninviting
avenue of escape this under the very eye of the
parson now posted near the willow, and with Merlin
and Dawnsman swimming at last towards the spot
where he rests, his eyes watching the hounds' white
legs through the clouded water. Yet at this critical
moment, when renewed hue and cry seem imminent,
fortune favours the hunted creature. A tally-ho-
by whom given Andrew was never able to find out —
comes distinct and thrilling from the reed-bed at the
head of the remotest creek, and draws away most
of the field and all the hounds. The tremor of the
bank caused by the hurrying feet at first fills the
otter with fresh alarm, but in the quiet that suc-
ceeds he raises his head and listens.

"Wind him, my boys." It is the Squire's voice
he can hear in the distance. Thinking the moment

ACROSS COUNTRY 79

propitious he steals from the water, dashes across
the sward, and presses up the gulley at the top of his
speed. His immediate point is a hover beneath a
big rock below Skimiel's Bridge. The stream
swirls round it, but a dry holt within is known to
all the wandering tribe of otters. Only by a miracle
can the slow-footed creature cover the two miles to
it, before he is overtaken. Look at him as he
hurries along under the shelter of that stone wall, as
he threads his way among the furze bushes, as he
glides like a monster eel through the coarse grasses,
where the dew lies heavy. You are conscious of the
great effort he is making to save his life. That
dark spot below the high bank is the rock he is
making for, and it is the silver thread of the stream
surrounding it that you see sparkling here and there
at the foot of the rugged slope. Till now he has
taken nearly a bee-line, but will he dare to pass
before the door of the farmhouse he is heading for,
where an old woman is feeding the geese and a
black pig blocks the narrow way. Do not wonder
that this shyest of creatures recked not of the shak-
ing of the old woman's apron, that he paid no heed
to the pig which ran him neck and neck for twenty
yards before going off at a tangent. With the lake
now more than a mile behind, a posse of constables

80 THE HUNT

should not make him deviate from his line. But
hark ! Faint though the cry be, the otter hears it.
Full well he knows that his escape has been dis-
covered, that at every stride the hounds are gaining,
and that there is no twist or turn on his hot trail
to check them ; but he cannot add to his best pace.
Look, he has left the furze and bracken that hid his
movements and is about to enter the reedy swamp
which separates him from the stream. On landing
he does not, like the fox, dwell to listen. No, some
twenty yards below the rock he dives, nor does he
come to the surface until he has gained its shelter.
To his dismay he finds an otter in possession, one
with whom he has mated. The cubs, awakened out
of their sleep, hiss at the hunted creature as his head
shows above the gurgling water. Only for an
instant does he stay to lick the bitch's face with his
hot tongue, then, after swimming down stream for
some distance he lands and, reckless for the moment
of his own safety, runs along the open bank in full
view of the miller from Nancothan, who has tottered
up the valley to raise the flushet of the mill stream.
See ! the old man is waving his white hat to attract
the approaching hounds : he is shouting too at the
top of his feeble voice ; but the gallant beast keeps
to the open bank, and not until he is past the

THE QUARRY DISTRESSED 81

shallows where the moorland cattle stand on swelter-
ing days does he dive, fleeing like a shadow below
the surface, more determined than ever to gain the
safe drain he set out to reach. On reaching the
stream most of the hounds take to the water, and
just as Venom is getting dangerously near the rock
Cunoval hits the downward line. Rallying to his
cry, the pack flash along the bank and rapidly
lessen the distance separating them from their dis-
tressed quarry.

Seeing the direction they are taking, the field, by
a short cut, come up with them by the mill, where
they have met with a check. Across the chord of
a bend the hounds recover the line, and taking to
the bed of the stream pass under Nancothan Bridge.
The otter hears them coming, but another check
gives him a slight advantage, and surely now he will
reach the drain. Vain hope ! Between him and his
objective, in the narrow passage between two rocks
that contract the stream, stands the Earthstopper.
On finding that the otter had stolen away from the
lake he guessed it would make for the sea, and has
hurried across country to intercept it. Breathless
after his long run, he has hardly taken up his position
before he sees the otter coming towards him, break-
ing the water in its frantic hurry. Bang up against

L

82 THE HUNT

his legs it comes, and as it retreats up stream, the
excited hounds come round the bend and swim over
it. Nearly exhausted by its efforts, the beast takes
shelter under a bank facing its old path to the lake,
and when Sir Bevil has rushed past, it dives, crosses
the stream, glides between the flags, and following
the track it knows so well, presses up the hill as
best it can towards the plantation where the Earth-
stopper had found its tracks.

" Se — seen the otter, Andrew ? " gasps Sir Bevil.
"Yes, sir, he's gone up strame, he's touchin'."
The horn recalls the reluctant hounds, revelling
in the scent that the stream carries down. There
they come past the Earthstopper. See how eagerly
they are drawing the banks, how impatient the check
makes them. Gellert, who has the best nose of the
pack, is getting close to the clump of iris ; the next
moment his tell-tale tongue warns the pack that
he has discovered the line of the quarry, and with
triumphant clamour they breast the hillside on its
hot trail. The game varmint has nearly gained the
crest, but he can scarcely hope to reach the adjacent
valley. He seems to be standing still, in comparison
with the hounds, which, with hackles up, are now rac-
ing for his blood. He is not half-way down the plan-
tation when they stream over the wall that bounds

A HAUNT OF THE OTTER.

[Face page 82.

A CLOSE THING 83

it. Troubadour, ever to the fore, gets a view of
the beaten creature struggling on ; but above the
ominous whimpers of the pack the otter hears the
roar of the fall, and this braces him to a final effort.
Troubadour is all but on him as he springs from the
high bank, and the next instant the spray flies from
the pool as otter and hound strike the water.

Without showing himself the hunted beast seeks
refuge behind the roots of the big elm which, a week
before, had attracted the eye of the Earthstopper.
The otter is in sore plight, but little does he fear
the infuriated pack now. They may bay outside
his stronghold to their heart's content. But he's
not done with yet. Venom and Vixen have just
disappeared between the coils of the roots and are
making for a ledge within, where the creature is
resting and breathing heavily. Then Sir Bevil,
the parson, the doctor, and the Earthstopper come
rushing down between the trees. The next moment
Andrew is lying at full length and listening. With
his ear close to the ground, he can hear the terriers
yapping six or eight feet below.

"They caan't get at un, sir, " says he, rising to
his feet after a time, his voice scarcely audible above
the clamour of the hounds and the roar of the fall.
" Then we'll leave him, we won't dig. He's a

84 THE HUNT

grand beast and deserves his life. You look dis-
appointed, Andrew ? "

" No, sir, should only a' liked to a' seed the
pad of un."

With some difficulty the hounds are called off
and the terriers induced to come out. The otter
lived some years after, but Andrew never spurred
him again.

CHAPTER VIII
THE WHITE BADGER OF CAIRN KENIDZHEK

THE EARTHSTOPPER IN DOUBT

IT is with some misgiving that I venture to insert
this tale, inasmuch as the telling involves mention
of a place so weird that readers strange to the
Land's End district may be incredulous of its
existence.

For to this day an evil repute clings to Cairn
Kenidzhek amongst those best fit to judge its char-
acter— to wit, the few dwellers round the base of the
rugged hill on which it frowns. Within half a mile
or so of it, there are three small farmhouses, count-
ing the one on the lower moor by the quaking bog
where Jim Trevaskis used to live, and from the
occupants, if you first win their confidence and are
betrayed by no " furrin " accent, you may learn
some of the strange occurrences that take place
about it.

8G THE EARTHSTOPPER IN I)OITBT

With bated breath they will tell you that on
pitch-dark nights the pile of rocks is at times lit up
with an unearthly light, and that now and then,
especially when trouble is brooding and the death-
watch has been ticking in the " spence," they hear,
as they lie awake, the stony hill ring under the
stroke of galloping hoofs. Whether these and
other eerie happenings, around which legends have
shaped themselves, can be explained on scientific
grounds, matters not to them, for the Celt of the
countryside turns a deaf ear to new-fangled notions
and clings to the traditions of his fathers. But of
all the haunting memories of the Cairn, that which
inspires the greatest dread is associated with the
disappearance of two men who were last seen toil-
ing up the hill at the close of a wild winter's day.
No legend is this coming down from a remote past ;
for Dick Shellal, Trevaskis' farmhand, who could
count up to forty with the help of his fingers, had
heard his great-grandfather say that the mystery
was talked about when he was a boy as if it were a
thing of yesterday.

On the December night when our tale opens,
Trevaskis himself, as was his wont in stormy
weather, bedded up the cattle early, piled the furze
on the fire though the wind was westerly, and — a

A W1SHT NIGHT 87

thing he would never have done by day — permitted
Shellal, who scamped the job in his hurry to get
indoors, to put the wheel of an old donkey cart on
the "riffled" thatch of the pig's "crow." Hours
later, when his master had at length fallen asleep,
and Shellal could hear him snoring through the
"planchen," he himself lay wide awake on his straw
pallet listening to the moaning of the wind, and,
tempted during a temporary lull to gratify his
curiosity and see whether anything was abroad,
sat up in bed and peeped through the corner pane
of the attic window. Angry clouds coursed across
the face of the moon, and the sky was nearly as
dark as the earth ; but whilst he looked there was a
rift in the black veil, and against the silver disc he
got a glimpse of the jagged crest of the Cairn.
Lowering his gaze at the sight of it, he followed
the vague outline of the murky cone of the hill, and
then with the quickness of thought, buried his
shock head under the bedclothes. Coward ! Lei
him lie there with chattering teeth, and with knees
doubled up to his chin. The light that scared him,
though it is so near the edge of the bog, is no
pixie's light, no lantern held by shadowy hands ;
the feeble rays he saw, flicker on the path of as
human a being as ever trod the earth. He should

88 THE EARTHSTOPPER IN DOUBT

have known who it was, for there is but one man
whose lonesome duty could bring him there in the
small hours of the morning, when the watch-dog
sleeps, and the fox is tyrant of the farmyard. Yes,
it is Andrew who threads his way in and out
amongst the rush-clumps near the lip of the
treacherous quagmire. But what is he doing
there? Why has he not taken to the rising
ground at his usual point, a furlong back, where
the herbage is scant, and scarce hides the stony
surface ? Surely he must have missed his way, or
he would not be following the widely circuitous
base to reach the fox-earth in the valley on the far
side of the Cairn.

It is not so. No, given to taking short cuts
though he is, he prefers on this night to keep on
the rim of the haunted slopes, and as near the bog
as foothold will allow. Level-headed as he is in
most things, the taint of superstition is in his blood
too, and it is fear, excited by the story he heard
two hours ago, that dictates the path he follows.
Dropping in at the " Jolly Tinners " at Trewellard for
a glass of beer before starting on his round, he
found himself an involuntary listener to what he
would rather have missed. On pushing open the
door, he was surprised to find some half a dozen

UNCLE ZACKEY'S YARN 89

miners in the bar, and wondered at the cause of
their silence. They were seated on a form in front
of a fire, but their attention was apparently taken
by an aged miner, for their heads were turned his
way. Andrew, who feared there had been loss of
life in the mine, stole into a seat opposite the old
man, who, to his dismay, related the story of the
two men lost upon Cairn Kenidjack, for so he called
it. Thrilling was every word he said, even when
dealing with the well-known facts — the sighting of
the strange sail, the landing at the Cove, the path
taken by the men across the moor, their conversa-
tion with the miners near the Cross, the spot near
the Cairn where they were last seen in the gathering
gloom, the lurid light that lit up the rocks, the
finding of the broken claymore. But when with
trembling voice he threw out dark hints of what

o

most likely befell the missing men at nightfall, a
deathlike silence fell on his rugged listeners, and so
unnerved was the Earthstopper that he started at
the creaking of the signboard, and shrunk from the
thought of the journey before him. The tale ended,
Andrew would have called for a quart of strong ale,
but that he was short of cash and would not ask the
landlord to put his name on the slate, " no tick "
being the custom in the parish of Pendeen. Yet,

M

90 THE EARTHSTOPPER IN DOUBT

for the sake of the company and the brightness of
the room he stayed on and, not knowing the gossip
of the mining village, strove, but in vain, to change
the current of his thoughts by putting questions
about the " bal " and even about the ponies in the
submarine level, which extends more than a mile
under the sea. At turning-out time, he put the cat
that had fallen asleep on his knees gently on the
floor, and lit the lantern. Leaving the inn, he went
up the road with one of the miners who lived on the
edge of the moorland, and when the wind slammed
Jan Jose's door behind him, Andrew, oppressed with
a feeling of loneliness he seldom experienced, left
the track and set out across the gale-swept waste
leading to Kenidzhek, with uncle Zackey's version
of the mystery vivid in his brain. On the way he
stopped two fox-earths, his tramp till then being
void of incidents, save for the startled cry of a snipe
that sprung from his feet near the edge of a marsh,
and the scream of an owl that glided past him
where, to avoid some waste heaps, he swung round
by a mine-ruin. He had not, however, proceeded
three furlongs from the spot where Shellal saw his
light, before he got a fright which, for an instant,
paralysed his steps and all but took his breath away.
" Good Lor' ! whatever es et ? " he gasped as

THE EARTHSTOPPER GETS A FRIGHT 91

something white crossed his path. His first thought
was that his fate had overtaken him, and that he
would disappear as mysteriously as the two men of
Zackey's yarn. Recovering from the shock and
feeling the ground still under his feet, he moved
on, his stumbling steps betraying his agitation.
" Couldn' be a whi — a white hare ; no, no, was too
big for that and et didn' loup along like a hare.
Was et a livin' crittur at all ? Was et — rubbish ! "
" Pull yourself together, man," said a voice within,
" go back and see if the thing left any track."
Though the sweat stood in big drops on his face,
and the gale which met him in the face impeded his
steps, he conquered his fears so far as to go back.
The thing had passed up the slope, he remembered,
near the Giant's Quoit, for against that he had
momentarily leant for support ; and there he bent
over the ground, his face blanched, his eyes wild but
eager as if they would devour the bare places be-
tween the tussocks that skirted the trickling water.
Two paces above, on the margin of a shrunken
pool made by the runnel, and clean-cut as in plaster,
the light of the flickering flame fell on the track of
a badger. " Good Lor' ! " he exclaimed, as the foot-
prints met his astonished eyes ; and then hurriedly
retraced his steps. The farther he got from the

92 THE EARTHSTOPPEtt IN DOUBT

spot, the more strongly reason asserted itself over
superstition. He argued thus v/ith himself:
"White, wadna? sartinly : the track of a badger,
wadna ? I should say so — " This with the trace of
smile, for he had never seen more clearly-cut foot-
prints. "Have I seen a white badger, I wonder?
Auld Dick wance said as much and was laafed at
for the rest of his days. No, et caan't be, and yit
'tes hard to believe et edden. Sperrits doan't maake
badger-prints in the mud. How many glasses o'
beer did ee have at the ' Tinners ' ? Only wan, worse
luck ? Es et saafe to tell the Squire ? The Caastle
waan't hould un, he'll be in such a pore." It must
be explained that Sir Bevil took the keenest pleasure
in collecting curious specimens of the fauna of the
district. In the entrance hall at the Castle were a
cream-coloured otter, a grey fox, and a yellow seal,
but as yet there was only a grey badger in a case
below three pied Cornish choughs. And here let
me mention an incident which bears on the story,
inasmuch as it serves to explain the Earths topper's
caution and hesitancy, despite his intense eagerness
to report what he has seen. Some four months
after the capture of the otter, he was standing under
the Cairn near the Castle, at the edge of the brake
which hounds were drawing, his eyes strained to

THE SNOW-WHITE CREATURE 93

catch a view of a fox. A slight rustle in the furze,
and a brisk waving of Cunoval's stern, had attracted
his attention, or the animal he got a glimpse of
might have escaped his notice. As it was, he saw
only the body and tail of the creature as it flashed
across a narrow opening between the bushes, but
whatever it was, its coat and brush were as white
as snow. Great was his excitement, but greater
far was his chagrin, on looking over his shoulder as
he ran in the direction of Sir Bevil, to see the snow-
white creature climbing the stem of a fir that rose
out of the brake. Of course, had he known that
the Squire had brought home a big Persian cat
on his return from Plymouth the week before, he
could not have fallen into such an error as to believe
that he had seen a white fox ; cats, foreign or in-
digenous, being, unless their ears are cropped close,
such inveterate poachers.

This experience and his narrow escape from
making a fool of himself dwelt with the Earth-
stopper, and occurred to him more than once before
he had completed his round. His work done, he
has plenty of time to reconsider the evidence in cold
reason now that the powers of darkness have crept
back to their lairs. He is sitting in the lewth with
his back against one of the boulders of a stone

94 THE EARTHSTOPPER IN DOUBT

circle, set like a coronet on the brow of a hill com-
manding the steep slope over against him, down
which the hounds will come on their way to the
meet.

The sun that reddens the East has lifted the
veil of night from the valley, revealing the smoke
rising from a few chimneys where white-washed
homesteads dot the countryside. Some cows,
released from milking, are waiting for a boy to open
the gate of a meadow ; a flock of geese is making
its way to a pool in the bottoms. The Earthstopper
takes no notice of them, of the cosy rickyard, of
the grim cairn beyond, or of the distant bay for all
its roseate hue and lovely setting. His thoughts
are centred on the ghostly thing that crossed his
path, and as he cannot but believe, left a badger's
footprints on the edge of the runnel. In all his
wanderings he has never met with anything to
excite his interest and imagination so much, or to
cause him such anxiety. He feels that he ought to
tell the Squire, but by doing so he runs the risk of
incurring the ridicule that had fallen on Dick Hal.
He has every confidence in Sir Bevil's discretion,
but he knows that somehow, secrets leak out of
Castles as freely as they do out of cottages. How
unfortunate it was that owing to the wildness of

THE SQUIRE MUST BE TOLD 95

the night Vennie had to be left to keep his grand-
child company ! The dog would have flown at the
thing if it were a living creature, and that would
have dispelled the slight misgiving he feels that the
prints might have been those of a grey badger
which had passed up the hill earlier. But in that
case what could he have seen ? A witch ? or the lost
soul that is said to wander there ? No, no, the sun
is too high in the heavens for him to heed old men's
tales. His mind is made up, he will risk everything
and tell the Squire before the day is out, and the
sooner the better for he will know no peace until
his secret is shared. His decision made, he knocks
the ashes from the pipe he has been smoking and,
choosing a sheltered spot, lies down on the dry fern,
and with a mossy stone for his pillow soon falls
asleep, for he is tired after his long round and the
buffeting of the wind. A couple of hours later he
awakes with a start. Has he overslept himself?
He looks at the sun. It is not mid-day, but still
the hounds may have passed ; Troubadour may
have found him in the hollow where he lay, may
have licked his face and gone on, without his being
any the wiser. He scans the hills around, but can
see no horsemen silhouetted against the sky ; the
few cattle in the valley are grazing undisturbed ; he

96 THE EARTHSTOPPER IN DOUBT

listens but he can hear no tell-tale sound, no toot of
horn, no bark of farm-dog, only the voice of the
dying gale, the faint rustle of dried bents, and the
whistle of the golden plover. He runs to a gap he
knows of at the far end of the croft, but finds in the
mud there no track of horse or hound, and then, on
looking across the valley, he sees the hounds coming
down the steep lane where it skirts a stunted planta-
tion, the space between the huntsman and the
whippers-in flecked with the white markings of the
pack. The meet is at a small village which he can-
not see from his station, but he waits where he is,
knowing that the cover below him is the first to be
drawn. And now he begins to think of his report
and to turn it over on his tongue. It runs. smoothly
enough until he comes to "white badger!" It is
not the word white or the word badger that scares
him, but the two together. "White mouse, white
rat, white ferret, white cat, white otter, white
elephant, whi — white badger." Yes, white goes
naturally enough with all but badger. Dare he
tell the Squire after all ? He becomes irresolute.
He walks to and fro across the heathery space
enclosed by the stones, and finally moves half-way
down the hill and takes his stand behind a big
boulder. Hardly has he gained it when a whipper-

1VHTHKK HESITATION 97

in gallops past him to take up a position on the far
side of the stone circle ; then Sir Bevil comes up
the croft on the grey mare, and from his favourite
spot, which is some twenty yards away from where
Andrew is, watches the working of the hounds.
Seeing after a time that a find is unlikely, Andrew
half resolves to go, there and then, and unburden
his mind. Twice he left the shelter of the rock and
as often retreated, but not before Sir Bevil had
remarked his hesitating behaviour. A third time
he ventured a little further, and then, if he were
about to retire again, the Squire's voice checked
him.

" Do you wish to speak to me, Andrew ? "

" Yes, sir, I do and I 'doan't."

" No one trapping foxes, I hope ? "

" No, sir, leastwise, not this side the country,"
said Andrew, walking up to him.

"You've bad news of some sort, I fear."

" No tedn that nither, sir. Et's like thes — I
was coming down-along round the foot of the
Hootin' Cairn, soon after midnight, when summat
white crossed the ground afore me."

" What was it ? " said Sir Bevil with a smile, the
eeriness of the place and the superstitious fear of
the Earthstopper occurring to him.

98 THE EARTHSTOPPER IN DOUBT

" Thet's just the point, sir."

" Was it twenty paces ahead of you ? "

" Lor' bless your life, sir, 'twas touchin', under
my feet, so to spaake. 'Twas a darkish night,
for all the moon was nearly full, but the thing
showed up as white as a ghost, and the sight of un
gov me a bra' turn, the more so being where I
were."

"Is that all you have to say ? — I see the hounds
are moving off."

" Only thes, sir ; on second thoughts, I went
back all of a quaake to see ef the thing left any
track."

" Well, did you find any ? " said Sir Bevil, rather
excitedly ; till then he had not seen what the
Earthstopper had been driving at.

" Iss, sir."

"What was it, my man, what was it?"

"The track of a badger — of a heavy badger,
the prent was that deep."

" You believe then, Andrew, that you have seen
a white badger, a white badger," said the Squire,
repeating the words deliberately and emphatically,
as was his wont on the bench at crucial points of a
witness's evidence, and looking the while straight
into the Earthstopper's unflinching eyes.

THE APPOINTMENT 99

" Iss, sir, I do ; but aifter thet I wouldn't care to
tell anyone savin' yoursel'."

" Be at the Castle at nine o'clock to-morrow
morning," said Sir Bevil, somewhat peremptorily,
and then galloped off after the hounds, leaving
Andrew staring open-mouthed after him.

CHAPTER IX

THE WHITE BADGER OF CAIRX KENIDZHEK—
Continued

THE EARTHSTOPPER ANGRY

MOST of Andrew's deep thinking was done in the
wooden arm-chair by his own fireside. There he is
seated, the evening after his interview with Sir
Bevil by the cover, considering the plan of cam-
paign against the badger. The only sound in the
room is the click of his grandchild's knitting-needles.
Vennie lies curled up on the floor at his feet. The
light of the lamp falls on the Earthstopper's face,
and betrays its absent expression. He is wander-
ing in thought over the moors and hills around
Kenidzhek, and wondering which of the many
earths he knows of, is the white badger's. By
careful examination, he will find sooner or later a
few white bristles on the walls of one of them,
which will give him the necessary clue. Should

100

DOUBTED BY HIS OWN 101

this plan fail, he will propose watching the earths,
and will request the Squire to let him do so alone,
lest the secret should leak out. Harrowing will his
vigils be in that weird district ; but his fear of ridicule
is greater than his fear of ghosts, and he would rather
have his grey hairs blanched with fright than become
the laughing-stock of the countryside.

" I hope thee'st nawthin' troublin' ee, granfer?"
said the girl, who had been casting anxious glances
from time to time at the old man.

" No, no, my dear, only I dropped across a
badger laast night, and I've bin thinkin' how I
might come by hes eearth : I'm to see the Squire
about et furst thing in the mornin'."

" But badgers are plenty enuf, granfer, I daresay
Vennie could find wan in a few minits ef you were
to turn her out on the moor.'

" Iss, iss, my dear, grey badgers es plenty enuf
as you say, too plenty for me, the varmints ; but
'twas a white wan I seed."

'' A wrhite wan, granfer?"

" Iss, a white wan ; surely thee dosn't misdoubt
me, Ravena ? "

"No, no, granfer dear, I make no doubt thee
didst see wan, and I do wish thee luck in catchen
of un. You'll dig it out, I s'pose ? "

102 THE EARTHSTOPPER ANGRY

" Iss, iss, the Squire says theere's only wan way
of taakin' a badger by fair play, and thet's by diggin'
un out."

" Then you must find where et's earth es, and
that may take a bra' passel of time."

" Ezackly so, the Squire may fret and fume,
but theere, nawthin' can be done till we knaw wheere
et es. Now, my dear, let us be off upstairs for I'm
tired."

After kissing the child, he went to bed and
slept soundly. He was early astir, lit the fire,
as he always did when at home, and, whilst the
kettle was boiling, fetched a pitcher of water from
the spring, and some sods from the little turf-
rick, for the day's use. After breakfast he set out
to lay his plans before the Squire. He had no
doubt that they would be accepted, for he could see
no alternative, and in matters of this kind the
Squire had generally fallen in with his views. His
surprise then at the sight that met his eyes as he
entered the yard of the Castle may be imagined.
The head keeper was seated in a wagonette in
charge of three terriers ; opposite him was a farm-
hand with a collection of picks and spades ; whilst
the coachman, holding the reins in one hand, was
putting a sack in the boot with the other. "Well,

THE EARTHSTOPPER MAZED 103

well," he muttered as he stood near the big gates
like one frozen to the cobbles, "what in the world es
the maanin' of thes ? " Impulsive he knew the
Squire to be ; but was there ever, thought he, such
folly as all this preparation for digging out a badger
without first knowing where it was ? Granting he
had seen a white badger, its holt might be almost
anywhere within four miles of the Giant's Quoit
where he had found the footprints, and inside that
radius he knew of at least two score of earths :
and was it possible that the Squire could have
said anything about the badger ? These thoughts
passed through the Earthstopper's mind as he stood
there resting on his blackthorn like one "mazed,"
whilst the men in the trap exchanged winks, and
wondered what ailed him. There was one thing
he could do, and would do, no matter what the
consequences : that was to see the Squire, and point
out the absurdity of going on such an expedition.

" Anythin' amiss wi' ee, An'rew ? arn't ee going
to jump up ? et's a quarter to nine and we've bin
ready since half-past eight."

Without replying to the keeper, he inquired
rather sharply, " Wheere's the Squire?"

" He's gone along these two hours and eh left
word as you was to follow on."

104 THE EARTHSTOPPEB ANGRY

This made the blood mount to his cheek ; and for
a moment he thought of going back home and hav-
ing nothing to do with the business. But master-
ing this impulse he walked up to the trap without a
word — his lips were too tightly compressed to say
anything — and took his seat by the side of the
coachman. In a short time the wagonette was
rattling along a country lane leading to the St Just
turnpike road.

" Wheere are ee drivin' to, coachman ? " said
Andrew, by way of a feeler when he had found his

tongue.

" My horders is to drive to William Trevaskis'
farm as lies under the 'Ooting Cairn."

" What's up to taake the Squire out so eearly ? "

"Hi don't know that I can tell ee, but be care-
ful 'ow you speaks to 'im ; ee's that hexcited, you'd
think he'd lost the blackbird with a white topknot."

Andrew, who from the moment he had entered
the stable-yard had been under the impression that
everyone at the Castle must have heard about the
white badger, would have been hopeful now that
such was not the case, were it not for an otherwise
unaccountable grin that puckered the coachman's
cheek and the singularly jaunty way in which he
handled the whip. However, he kept his misgiv-

KKNIDZHEK IN SIGHT 105

ings to himself, and whilst seemingly engaged in
following the fresh tracks of a horse that had
galloped along the side of the road that morning,
was ransacking his brain to remember whether he
had ever seen a badger's earth on Cairn Kenidzhek.
The fact is, he knew much less of the Hooting
Cairn than of any hill to the westward of Crobben,
nor could he call to mind a fox run to ground there.
Had it been Mulfra, the Galver, Sancreed Beacon,
Bartinney, or Chapel Cairn Brea, he could have
walked straight to every holt on their rocky slopes.
After nearly an hour's drive the pile of weird-looking
rocks shows plainly against the sky ; a few minutes
later the face of the hill comes in view and at its base
Trevaskis' house on the edge of a cultivated patch
reclaimed many years ago from the moorland that
stretches away to the northern cliffs. The sun catches
Shellal's tiny attic window, the leats where his springes
are set, the pool beyond the broad belt of yellow
reeds, and lights the white-crested waves of the sea.
When near enough, Andrew makes out the
farmer in his shirt sleeves and then — can he believe
his own eyes ? — three, four, five miners against the
turf-rick ; Trevaskis is holding a tubbal in one
hand and — yes, a furze-chopper in the other ; picks

and shovels are piled in front of the miners ; Shellal

o

106 THE EARTHSTOPPER ANGRY

is holding two buckets, no doubt containing water
for the terriers ; and, by all that's good, it is a pair of
badger-tongs that the Squire has just brought out
of the house, his ringers fidgeting with the guard.
In short, a more completely equipped party for an
assault on a badger's fortress and, judging by the
laughter, a more merry one, it would be difficult to
imagine. But the high spirits of Squire, farmer, and
miner are not shared by the Earthstopper. The
elaborate preparations, no less than the hilarity,
seemed to mock him. He foresaw that the day's
proceedings would bring life-long ridicule on himself.
The whole countryside would get to hear of Andrew
leading the Squire a fool's chase after a white
badger, forsooth ! and wherever he went people
would jeer at his powers of observation or treat him
with silent pity, according to their dispositions.
Now after doing his duty to the best of his ability
for seven-and-thirty years, and being "plagued to
death " well-nigh every other week during the hunt-
ing season by badgers scratching out his stoppings
and letting the foxes in — an annoyance that perhaps
no other Earthstopper in the whole of England has
to put up with — for the faithful henchman on whom
success depended to be dragged willy-nilly into this
business was enough not only to rouse his ire but

VKXKI) AS l-'IHK 107

to shake his fealty to his master. If Andrew was
ever vexed in his life, he was vexed now, "vexed as
fire." Near the Squire he would not go, unless
sent for, not he ; to a peremptory summons he
would turn a deaf ear. Still, enraged though he
was, he would not shirk his duty, hopeless as
his task might be. He would search till nightfall,
though a dozen giggling louts dogged his heels.
He knew that the badger's holt might possibly be
on Cairn Kenidzhek, but it was about one chance in
a hundred. He jumped down from the trap before
it reached the gate where the Squire was awaiting
it, and seizing the opportunity whilst Sir Bevil was
talking to the keeper, jumped the wall and going up
to Trevaskis, asked him if he knew of a badger's
earth on the hill.

" Niver had no bisiness," he replied in a very loud
voice, "to climb un not even high by day. I laaves
the furze-cuttin' to Shellaal. The nighest eearth be-
known to me es in the croft under the Goomp."
Muttering maledictions on the "git chucklehead,"
Andrew shied off long before the harangue was
finished and, without consulting Shellal, who stood
there open-mouthed and still gripping the two
buckets, crossed the lane and began with his long
strides the ascent of the crag-topped hill. It was

108 THE EARTHSTOPPER ANGRY

the best thing he could have done. Only by
tremendous exertions could he hope to work off his
rage, and how he did exert himself!

Seldom had he put his hard sinews and strong
muscles to such a strain as he did that morning,
when searching the rugged slope in quest of the
badger's earth.

Now, he was lost to sight in some tangled gulley
where he tore through stunted blackthorn and
brambles to reach its inmost recess ; now, on hands
and knees, he explored furze-screened places between
small groups of boulders that dotted the higher
slopes like outworks to the rocky citadel on their
crest ; now he scanned for beaten track the starved
herbage that margined the Cairn ; now the crevices
between the rocks for trodden lichen that might
betray the badger's way to his fastness. All to
no purpose ! There remained the other side of the
hill to explore ; and thither he went. Some half-way
down the slope there is a belt of ground so barren
as to suggest a mineral lode just below the sur-
face. Along it the Earthstopper proceeded at a rapid
pace, his eyes scrutinising the edge of the sparse
cover that skirted it. All at once he stopped in his
stride as he lit on the run of some animal leading
towards the Cairn. Some distance up it was joined,

A BADGER'S KAKTH 109

beneath a thorn bush, by a more clearly defined
track, and a little way beyond the junction, where
the single track passed between two boulders and
was arched over with dead bracken and withered
bents, so unmistakable was the " creep " that the
Earthstopper knew that he was on the trail of a
badger. His craft was scarcely needed now, but he
followed the trodden path jealously as if once lost it
could with difficulty be recovered. Farther up the
slope it passed under a clump of furze that there ran
up to the foot of the Cairn. The bushes were thick
and luxuriant, with here and there a yellow bloom,
being protected from the westerly wind by the Cairn,
and spared by Trevaskis since Shellal had struck
against working on that side of the rocks without
further rise of wages. On all fours the Earthstopper
crept under them, wormed his way quickly forward
over the dry spines, parting the furze above his head
now and again to let the light in, and convince him-
self that he was following the track.

Some distance in he came upon aheap of soil at the
mouth of a badger's earth. He restrains the delight
he feels, for fear it may be abandoned. At once he
examines the mouth of the set. The floor is well
beaten and too hard to record footprints, no moss
grows there, no spider's web curtains the entrance.

110 THE EARTHSTOPPER ANGRY

Lying flat on the ground with his head well in-
side the hole, he sniffs the air of the tunnel, but can
detect no taint of any inmate. " Hanrew, Hanrew,
wheere are ee? " It is the voice of Shellal, whose
weather-beaten and scared face shows round a big
boulder, whence he can see the eastern face of the
hill. The Earthstopper hears him, but is too en-
grossed in his work to reply, and too far in the earth
to make anyone hear him, except possibly the badger,
if he is at home. " Hanrew, Hanrew," Shellal calls
at the top of his voice ; and getting no answer but the
echo of the rocks, he hurries back, fully convinced
that nothing more will ever be seen of the Earth-
stopper. Andrew then gets some matches out of
his pocket and, striking one, holds it against the left
wrall of the earth. His face, which is all aglow,
brightens as he inspects it. Lighting another match
he removes something from the smooth surface and
backs out along the track he came by, no longer
angry and desperate, but excited and exultant.
Sir Bevil and the rest of the party now arrived
at that side of the Cairn are looking round and
wondering what has become of Andrew, when
they hear a rustling in the furze and at length
see his hobnailed boots project from the thick
bushes.

THE WHITE BRISTLE 111

The stems of the furze have swept off his cap ; so
bareheaded, but triumphant, he goes straight to Sir
Bevil, holding up between the forefinger and the
thumb of his right hand the precious evidence.
The men crowd round Squire and Earthstopper
with amazement written on their faces as they be-
hold the white bristle — for such it is — and ready for
whatever exertion may be needed to secure the
trophy. The Squire, suppressing the excitement he
feels, orders the bushes that screen the earth to be
cleared away. When Trevaskis and Shellal have
done this, Andrew gets permission to send in one
of the terriers to make sure that the badger is at
home. On being released by the keeper from the
chain that holds her, Vixen runs to where Andrew
is lying at the mouth of the set, and, after being
patted and encouraged, enters the hole and disap-
pears from view. With his head in the tunnel and
with one hand raised to silence the chatter of the
farmer and coachman, who are standing a few yards
away, the old man listens to the bitch as she makes
her way along the galleries of the subterranean fast-
ness. After some seconds, neither he nor Sir Bevil,
who is lying at full length with his left ear to the
ground — he was slightly deaf in the right — can de-
tect any sound of her movements.

CHAPTER X

THE WHITE BADGER OF CAIRN KENIDZHEK —
Continued

THE BADGER'S CAPTURE AND ESCAPE

PRESENTLY they hear a faint bark and that peculiar
thumping noise which a badger makes when moving
along its underground passages.

" He's theere, sir," says Andrew. By way of re-
sponse the Squire winks his right eye as though to
say " I can hear him." A sharp struggle succeeds,
and the yell of the dog echoes along the winding
way. At last the Earthstopper catches what he has
been listening for, the welcome yap, yap, yap . . .
coming always from the same spot, which tells him
that the terrier is face to face with the badger in an
end of its earth.

Without a moment's delay, Sir Bevil instructs the
miners where to sink a shaft to intercept the badger
and cut it off from its galleries. The surface is

112

SINKING THE SHAFT 113

littered with boulders, but fortunately there is a clear
space some four feet wide between two outcropping
rocks, and there the men set to work. Whilst they
ply pick and spade, Andrew listens anxiously to the
sounds that reach him from below, his fear being
that the badger may force its way to some remoter
part of its earth and render their labour of no avail.
Hour after hour, six men working in reliefs continue
to sink the shaft through the soft ground between
the two walls of granite. No child's play is this.
As the pit gets deeper and deeper, the effort required
to throw the earth to the surface begins to tell on
the miners, who are working away as energetically
as if some of their mates were entombed below.
And here let it be said that digging out a badger,
always an arduous operation, is frequently impracti-
cable. Some of the sets in use to day, such as those
at Toldavas, Bosistow and Boscawen-un, are of con-
siderable depth and extent, and defy all efforts of the
spade. Whether they are hundreds or thousands
of years old must remain a matter of conjecture,
but as the badger is one of the oldest of living
mammals there is little room for doubt that it has
had its earths in the Cornish hillsides from a very
remote past. Andrew is wondering as he lies there

whether the set below him is one which will baffle

r

114 THE BADGER'S CAPTURE AND ESCAPE

all their efforts. As long as the terrier can keep the
badger where it is there is hope of bagging it. But
Vixen has already been for three hours in that
stifling den, and during that time has been throwing
her tongue almost incessantly. Incited by her yap-
ing and an occasional cry of pain, the miners — they
can hear her now — work bravely, despite their aching
arms and backs. Suddenly the sound ceases, and
shortly after, the Earthstopper hears Vixen as she
makes her way slowly along the passages to the
surface. Panting and exhausted out she staggers
at last, and the next instant Turk, who has long
been straining at his chain, is sent in to continue
her work. Fatal interval ! Alive now to the inse-
curity the holt it had deemed impregnable, and un-
able to dig its way farther on account of the rocky
nature of the ground, the harried creature has stolen
quietly away — at least neither Earthstopper nor
miners heard it — and by means of a side gallery
reached another stronghold on the far side of the
Cairn. The Earthstopper, ignorant of this strategic
move, is wondering why it is that Turk, so long
gone and generally so noisy, is not giving tongue.
What he fears as he continues to listen is that the
badger has buried itself during the few seconds it
was left, in which case all hope of securing it is gone.

THE IJADGER SHIFIS HIS QUARTERS 115

. . . Ah ! what was that ? a very faint yap, a mere
echo of a yap, reaches his ear. It seems to come
— does come — from far away under the Cairn.

" Wonder if the men down below can hear any-
thing, sir," says Andrew to Sir Bevil.

" Not a sound," is the Squire's response after
inquiry.

" The badger's shifted, sir ; I can hear Turk, and
that's about all."

Then the Squire takes the Earthstopper's place
and listens. " It's a long way off, Andrew, it conies
from under the Witch's Cauldron."

" Iss, sir, that's where I maake et." The note
of despondency in the Earthstopper's voice as he
said this, served only to stimulate the Squire. The
hopelessness of the situation would have daunted
most people, but Sir Bevil had no thought of giving
in, much less of owning that he was beaten.

Jumping up from the mouth of the earth, he
rushes to the edge of the work and letting himself
down the face of the rock, joins the two miners at
the bottom of the shaft.

" Men," says the Squire, " the badger has shifted
from his old quarters, and we must drive a level
under the Cairn. Andrew ! "

" Plaase, sir?"

116 THE BADGER'S CAPTURE AND ESCAPE

" Give me the direction ; is that about it ? " says
he, stretching his arm across the shaft.

" Iss, sir, as near as can be."

" Now, my man, give me your pick and let me
have a turn : it's not the first time I've used one."
Taking off his coat, he uses the tool with a vigour
that astonishes the miner.

Fortunately, the ground admits of his working
round the edge of the rock nearer the Cairn, in a
direction almost at right angles to its already
exposed face, and before long he has dug his way
out of sight, and is shouting for a candle to enable
him to see what he is about. A forlorn proceeding
it might well seem to the old miner shovelling away
the soil as the Squire fetches it down, for they are
nearly a hundred feet from the badger, and at any
moment may come on rocky ground and have to
give up. The Squire knows this, but sticks to the
apparently impossible task with his never-say-die
tenacity. And when things seem hopeless, fortune
befriends him. For to his surprise, after driving
several feet, and narrowly escaping injury from a
rock that fell behind him and dented the miner's
shovel, the pick penetrates the wall of mixed earth
and stone at the end of the level. Putting his ear
to the aperture, he makes out distinctly the yapping

THE CAVE 117

of the terrier on the far side of what, judging from
the hollow sound, appears to be a cave. The
discovery stimulates him to further exertions, and
in a short time pick and spade clear away the par-
tition that separates the workers from a cavernous
chamber. The flame of the candle held at arm's
length burns as steadily as in a room. Its light
falls on huge columns of granite under the Cairn,
and makes the mica sparkle. This is not the place
to describe the grim remains that were subsequently
found in this weird sepulchre. An article from the
pen of that learned antiquary, the village doctor, in
the records of the Cornubian Society, gives a
detailed description of the bones of animals now
extinct, discovered there, and of the skeletons of
two men with their tattered plaids still about them.

"A queer place this," says the Squire, forgetting
the badger for a moment ; "a place for bats, owls,
and buccaboos."

"Yes, a wisht ould plaace, sure 'nuf, 'tis a soart
o' fogau, sir," says Andrew, who has crept along
the tunnel, and is peering over the Squire's shoulder.
" How deep es et, sir? I caan't see the bottom."

"Only a few feet, judging from the sound of the
stones as they rattled down."

Then the Earthstopper lets himself down the

118 THE BADGER'S CAPTURE AND ESCAPE

wall of the cave, and holds the candle whilst the
Squire descends. The flame, held at arm's length,
was nearly on a level with the floor of the tunnel.
Guided by the sounds of the conflict, they thread
their way between the rude pillars of granite, and
at length reach the badger's stronghold on the far
side.

" They are no distance in, Andrew," says the
Squire, speaking of the terrier and the badger, who
are going at it tooth and nail.

" No, sir, touchin', do ee hear un gruntin',
wonder ef I can see un." Whereupon he lies flat
on the loose soil, and holding the candle in front of
him, looks into the hole.

" Can you see the badger ? "

" No, sir, the dog's in the way, and the dust es
enough to blind ee ; but he's ourn, sir, we shall get
un ; white or grey, we shall get un. Have ee got
the tongs, case they're wanted ? "

"Yes, I'm holding them."

At this moment the man who had been shovel-
ling comes up with another miner, with candles
stuck in their hats. Shellal and the coachman,
from the mouth of the tunnel, see the twinkling
lights come and go as the miners make their way
across the cave, and a spark or two struck by

A QUESTION OF TIME 119

hobnailed boots, and they start at Andrew's scream
of encouragement to the dog, and the echoes it
awakes.

" Es that your teeth chatterin', Shellal?"

" Iss, you wonder, do ee? bra' wisht auld place
edna ? don't et strike thee that way ? mowldy smill
about un."

" Arn't you goin' hover to 'em?"

"What? Shellal go over there? No, no, my
son, not for the best dunkey this side New Brudge.
Theer diggin' again: hear 'em do ee? Bra' fuss
about an auld badger, semmin' to me."

Yes, they are digging again. The Earthstopper
has taken a pick, and with his shirt-sleeves tucked
up, is working away with a will, whilst one of the
miners shovels the soil back, and keeps the hole
open to enable the dog to breathe. The badger
retreats as the sappers advance, and unfortunately
the earth extends farther in than the Earthstopper
imagined ; but that is a trifling matter, as every
stroke of the pick is bringing him nearer to the
prize. It is only a question of time. The Squire
leans against a huge rock, just behind the workers,
holding the tongs in one hand, and pulling his
moustache with the other. Every sound in the
savage fray can now be heard, and at times the

120 THE BADGER'S CAPTURE AND ESCAPE

excitement is intense. Once the badger charges
the dog to the mouth of the hole, and would have
shown itself, but that the indomitable Turk pushes
home the counter attack, and drives his foe right
back to the corner of its earth. For half an hour
longer the fight lasts, and at the end of it the dog
comes out exhausted. For once the bull terrier has
had as much fighting as it cared for but, though its
under jaw is scored with wounds, its panting shows
that its exhaustion is due rather to the stifling,
dust-laden atmosphere in which the unequal struggle
has been carried on.

But where is the other terrier ? why is not Nell
at hand to engage the badger and prevent him from
digging his way farther in ? Unpardonable over-
sight ! There can be no excuse. Squire and Earth-
stopper must have known that "fighting Turk," as
he was called, could not last very long against the
badger in that cramped, suffocating hole. " Look
sharp and fetch Nell," says Sir Bevil. " She should
have been here " — and would have been, had he but
given the word. The keeper has no difficulty in
getting Turk to follow him across the mirky cave,
but what a time he is, getting the terrier up to the
dimly-lighted tunnel from which Shellal and the
coachman have already withdrawn. Hurry man !

NOT A HAIR OF THE BADGER 121

What an age he is, making his way along the level !
A child would crawl faster. Every second is of the
utmost value. The instant the terrier came out of
the earth, the badger, most formidable of all sappers,
began to dig his way farther in, gaining at every
stroke of his powerful claws on Andrew and the
miner. Then the Earthstopper, impelled by a
curiosity excusable perhaps, but certainly ill-timed,
drops his pick, believing he has hit upon a means
of seeing whether the creature before him is really
the white badger or not. Taking the shovel from
the miner, he sticks a piece of candle on the end of
it and pushes it into the earth as far as his arm
allows. Then he peers into the hole. Better that
he had kept on with the pick instead of wasting his
time ! Not a glimpse does he get of the creature.
The flame burns feebly in the stifling air, and through
the dust he can barely discern the heaped-up soil
behind which the badger has effectually concealed
itself since the terrier came out. He hears the un-
tiring beast working away with the power and re-
gularity of a machine, though he sees not a hair of
it ; but where are his quick, faultless eyes that he
fails to descry that bit of furze root amidst the soil ?
It would, at least, have warned him that the badger
is near the surface. As he withdraws the light he

Q

122 THE BADGERS CAPTURE AND ESCAPE

sees to his dismay that a big boulder arches over
the hole, a little way in, rendering further digging
impracticable. "I'm afeerd we shall lose un after all,
sir," says he turning his face towards Sir Bevil.

"Lose him, lose him, why? why lose him, my
man ? "

"We've got into hard ground, sir, the rocks have
closed in like the walls of a drain, nawthin' but a drill
and dynamite can get through this cappin' stone," and
the sound as he strikes it with the iron of the shovel
reaches Sir Bevil's ears above the pounding of the
indefatigable creature within, and makes painful dis-
cord to the music of the badger's claws. " Halloo ! "
says the astonished Earthstopper as he withdraws the
shovel ; for at this instant a current of fresh air fans
his heated face, the noise from the earth almost im-
mediately ceases, and he realises — what he had known
happen but once before — that the badger has dug his
way through to the open. " He's broke out, sir,"
says he excitedly, as he jumps to his feet. Seizing
a candle he hurries with Sir Bevil and the miners
across the cave, climbs the wall of it, and crawls along
the tunnel into the trench. In a twinkling he reaches
the surface and rushes in frantic haste round the
rocks, shouting as he runs, " Loose the dogs, loose
the dogs."

THE TELL-TALE STICK 123

On the other side of the Cairn he expects to get
a glimpse of the badger hurrying down the rugged
hill at its best pace. But when he gets there, no
sign of fugitive, white or grey, meets his disappointed
gaze. Climbing a rock he looks down on the some-
what sparse brake, his eyes searching the motionless
furze and waving bents to detect by tell-tale move-
ments of bush or withered grass the whereabouts of
the quarry. I f it is stealing away under their shelter,
the cover keeps its secret well. From its unrespon-
sive surface the Earthstopper gleans no inkling of
its presence, and with surprise, so quickly have the
hours sped, sees that the gathering shadows are
stealing over the base of the sunlight slope. Sud-
denly with a wild scream he leaps from the rock
into the stunted furze and plunges through it like
one possessed. It was only the snapping of a
brittle stick he had heard, but it was enough ; it be-
trayed the whereabouts of the heavy beast that had
unwisely dwelt near the Cairn until it heard the
hue and cry raised by the Earthstopper.

Attracted by Andrew's scream, Vixen and Nell fly
to him, and getting on the line of the badger soon
overtake it. "Where's the badger?" shouts Sir
Bevil as he and the others come tearing down the
hill. No need is there of other answer than Vixen's

124 THE BADGER'S CAPTURE AND ESCAPE

yell to tell him where badger and dogs are keeping
up a running fight by that big boulder half-way
down the slope. All eyes are riveted on the spot,
but till now only the terriers have seen the creature.
A somewhat barren patch lies right ahead of where
the bushes are being violently shaken. Has the
badger slackened its pace that it seems so tantalis-
ingly long in reaching the edge of the furze ? . . .

" 'Tes, 'tes the whi— — , the white wan, sure 'nuf,
sir, and a beety," cries the Earthstopper, as the clean-
cut head projects beyond the bush,

" What a grand beast ! but how are we to secure
him ? "

"Dust ee want un livin' or dead, sir?" shouts
the excited Andrew in his broadest vernacular,
running to keep abreast of the creature.

"Alive, alive, my man," replies the Squire rather
testily, as the quarry crosses a belt of ground Shellal
had recently burnt, and its hair, that all but sweeps
the ground, shows as white as snow against the
charred surface. With the tongs underground—
the Squire had dropped them as he scrambled up
the wall of the cave — and no man volunteering to go
and fetch them for fear of losing the fun, here is a nice
business for Andrew. He must secure the badger
with his bare hands : an order easily given but difficult

THE BADGER IN THE OPEN 125

to execute. The dogs too, good as they are at stick-
ing a badger up in its earth, game as they are at
meeting its terrible rushes underground, are power-
less to hold such a monster as that brushing on there
through the bushes and treating their savage atten-
tions with disdain. Through close furze and brambly
ihicket it presses forward as if through gossamer,
stopping but to make the terriers yell with pain.

Ned now arrives breathless with the sack, and
not a minute too soon, for Andrew, despite his
excitement, sees that the beast is heading for an old
drain in the valley, in which it would find safe
refuge. " Stand handy, Ned," says he to the keeper,
in a voice so ominously calm and firm as to make
even the coachman feel that the crisis has arrived
and that the next few minutes will be worth living
to a spectator. A barren space, it might be twenty
yards wide, lies in the badger's path ; and there
Andrew awaits. He is only just in time. A move-
ment of the furze, and its sharp muzzle protrudes,
then the eyes are seen — they were not pink — then
the massive body. Vixen and Nell, bleeding from
their wounds, make feints at it, one on each side.
Listen to the snapping of the jaws as the badger
bites right and left at them. Clear of the bush, not
a tussock screens the plucky, friendless creature.

126 THE BADGEBTS CAPTURE AND ESCAPE

Across the bare patch lies a close brake at the foot
of which is the unstopped drain. The cover gained,
he is safe. The badger knows it, and is resolved
to reach its shelter. Andrew is equally determined
to dispute the passage. The Earthstopper is not
hampered for space ; the semicircle of spectators
give him plenty of elbow-room. With every fibre
strung but under control, he closes in on the badger,
with nimble, springy movement learnt in the wrest-
ling ring. He looks the incarnation of wariness.
He knows his enemy, he knows the risk he is run-
ning. Ill-timed onset may mean the loss of finger
or hand.

With a cry that thrills man and dog but does
not daunt the quarry he calls on Vixen and Nell to
seize the badger, and stooping the instant its atten-
tion seems occupied by the terriers, he tries to seize
its tail. Quick as lightning the supple creature,
shaking off the dogs, turns on him, just missing his
hand as suddenly withdrawn. Fired by failure and
desperate from the nearness of the brake now scarce
two yards away, Andrew renews the attempt, and
this time getting a firm grip of the tail lifts the
heavy beast clear of the ground, totters and staggers
under the weight, but by an effort recovers his
balance and holds his prize at arm's length. Then

A GRAND FINISH 127

raising it above the mouth of the canvas bag which
Sir Bevil and the keeper are holding open with
trembling fingers, he twirls the writhing, snapping
brute round and round, and plunges it into the sack.
It was the work of a few seconds, but the exertion
brought the sweat to the Earthstopper's face.

" Bravo, Andrew," shouts the Squire, who with
the others had been looking on breathlessly, " very
neatly done : twice I was afraid he'd got you."
After tying the mouth of the sack, the keeper slung
the badger on his back and made for the wagonette.
The rest of the party, with the exception of Sir
Bevil, Trevaskis and Shellal, returned to the Cairn
to collect their belongings. Though it was dusk,
they succeeded in recovering everything except the
tongs, which were afterwards found by the exploring
party. Lights were already twinkling in the
windows of the farmhouse as they descended the
hill ; and before they entered the yard, Ned had lit
the lamps of the carriage, where they found him
standing guard over the badger, locked up in the
boot.

" A good day's sport, Andrew," said the Squire
as he put on his coat which the Earthstopper had
brought him.

"A grand finish, sir ; but a very poor start."

128 THE BADGERS CAPTURE AND ESCAPE

The next minute Shellal brought out the horse
which he had been saddling by the light of the
stable lantern and held it for the Squire to mount.
After a cheery "good night, sir," from the miners,
whom he had liberally rewarded, Sir Bevil hurried
home along the dark lanes as light-hearted as a
schoolboy, tossing a crown-piece through the open
door of the toll-house as he galloped past.

He was anxious to select a safe kennel for his
precious and formidable capture. He chose a
strongly-built stye, once the abode of a savage boar,
and had it well littered with straw. One of the
troughs in the enclosure was half-filled with milk ;
into a smaller one Sir Bevil himself poured a jar of
honey. An hour later the badger was turned loose
in this luxurious snuggery, securely fastened in, and
left to himself. Early next morning Sir Bevil went
to see how the captive had fared. The milk and
honey had not been touched, but in the space
between the troughs was a pile of bricks, mortar,
and soil. The heap lay at the mouth of a U-shaped
tunnel that passed under the foundations and came
out on the other side of the wall.

" The devil ! he's gone ! "

Yes, the badger had dug his way out and
escaped.

THE BADGER REGAINS HIS FREEDOM 129

Hue and cry and search till nightfall proved of no
avail. He had sought a cairn that overlooks the
ocean, drearier and safer than Cairn Kenidzhek.
Had he been content to stay in the Squire's pigstye,
his would have been the life of a prisoner, pampered,
but pining for liberty. He chose the bare subsist-
ence and the freedom of the wild ; and from that day
to this, the eyes of cliff-owl and fox alone have
seen his white form as he wanders mid gorse and
bracken and fallen cromlech, within easy reach of
his lonely refuge.

CHAPTER XI
THE HARE

LIFE STORY OF THE JACK OF BARTINNEY

IT is difficult to imagine a wild creature making a
harder struggle for existence than a hare in West
Penwith. From beginning to end its life is one of
persecution. As a leveret it can hardly escape fall-
ing a victim to the stoat, carrion crow, or magpie ; or,
when full grown, becoming the prey of the polecat
or the fox. If it be objected that puss has to run
the gauntlet of these enemies elsewhere, it may be
answered that in few parts of England is vermin so
abundant. This is only in a measure due to the
many strongholds which this wild country affords.
In the Land's End district game is not preserved,
and the absence of the gamekeeper and his traps
accounts for the prevalence of predatory creatures,
furred and feathered. It is curious too, to note
how interest in the hare and the protection afforded

130

ST BURYAN CHURCH.

[Face page 130.

HARE-HUNTING ONCE POPULAR 131

it, have declined before the popularity of fox-hunting.
Time was when it was highly esteemed as a beast
of the chase, and when money was freely spent on
the destruction of its enemies, though to a much
less extent than is now lavished on poultry-funds
for the perservation of the fox. In those days,
as parish registers attest, the churchwardens paid
with an easy conscience five shillings for a fox, a
shilling for an otter, a shilling for a grey or badger,
twopence for a fitcher or marten, and a penny
for a hedgebore or kite. Whether the register
of Buryan Church contains entries referring to the
payments of these fees, I do not know ; but there is
evidence that in this, the largest parish of the Land's
End district, the hare formerly flourished, its pur-
suit forming the chief diversion of the local gentry.
Of these, Squire Levelis of Trewoofe was, perhaps,
the most enthusiastic sportsman, and it is related of
him in an old Cornish romance, that one day after a
very arduous chase, at the moment his hounds were
on the point of running into a hare, the astonished
Squire suddenly found himself confronted, on the
spot where the scent failed, by a witch. The belief
that witches at times assumed the shape of a hare
lingered in West Cornwall at least as late as the
early part of the last century, for it is related of

132 LIFE STORY OF THE JACK OF BARTINNEY

Sir Rose Price that on his entering a cottage into
which his hounds had driven their quarry, he
found to his astonishment not a hare but a haggard
old woman, whose torn hands and face removed
all doubt as to what he had been in pursuit of.
This occurred at Kerrow in the parish of Zennor.
Squire Levelis' uncanny adventure took place
in the Lamorna valley ; and within the memory of
those still living, this wild " bottom " has resounded
with the merry music of " hare-hounds." No pack
of harriers exists in West Penwith to-day, but the
greyhound is very much in evidence ; and all things
considered, the latter state of poor puss is far worse
than the first. What with " long dogs/' foxes, vermin,
snares, and cheap guns, this most timid of creatures
lives in a state of perpetual apprehension. Never-
theless, it makes a stubborn struggle for existence
on the lone upland wastes, where it enjoys partial
immunity from its natural four-footed enemies, which,
for the most part, harbour in the wild overgrown
valleys that tin-streaming has rendered worthless
for agricultural purposes. It says something for the
keenness of the miner and the crofter that they should
search miles and miles of bleak moorland on the re-
mote chance of finding a hare which will, if found, in
all probability run their dogs to a standstill. Small

THE JACK OF BARTINNEY 133

wonder that to these men the few surviving
hares should seem to bear a charmed life, and that
those remarkable for stamina and endurance and re-
cognisable by some slight distinguishing mark,
should be as well known as a bob- tailed fox to the
members of a hunt.

Of such none was more famous than the
little Jack of Bartinney, whose life history was
typical of that of his race. His first home was
amidst a clump of rushes bordering a lonely pool on
the high ground between two of the Cornish heights.
Even when maternal instinct is strongest, fear of
detection kept doe and leveret apart during the day ;
but she never failed to suckle him at nightfall and
before sunrise, on her way back from the feeding-
ground on the lowland. From dawn to dusk the
leveret lay in the snuggest of couches in the
trough between the hills, and when not asleep would
watch the reeds waving over the shallows, or the
moor-hen, whose nest was on the opposite bank, swim
on the open water. One morning he saw her issue
from the reed-bed with four fluffy little red-billed crea-
tures following in her wake. This novel sight aroused
his curiosity, and when the moor-hen and her brood
skirted the little bay near him, he jumped out of the
nest and ran to the edge of the water. At that in-

134 LIFE STORY OF THE JACK OF BARTINNEY

stant a raven flying overhead, on the look-out for
food for its young in Bosigran Cliffs, espied him, and
the next minute the ominous shadow of the marauder
darkened the bright grassy margin, scaring the
leveret and making him flee for his life. Quick
as the moor-hen and her chicks had dived, before
the depredator could transfix him with its power-
ful beak, he made for the thickest of the rushes,
squatted and, though the raven made careful search,
escaped. This was the one fright of the happy days
spent by the side of the pool. There he got to
know the varied voices of nature — the carol of the
lark, the scream of the gull, the hum of the insects,
the murmur of the wind, and the music of the
ripple in the reed-bed ; the chief sounds that broke
the silence of the upland. From below came faintly
at times the bark of the dog, the crowing of the
cock, and at night the yelp of the fox, the snarl of
the badger, the whurring of the night-jar, and the
song of the sedge-warbler. Once he heard, from
the direction of the Land's End cliffs, that mys-
terious roaring of the sea, which when the farmers
hear they say " G'envor is callin'." His growth
was very rapid, and when a month old, a spirit of
restlessness and a desire to roam possessed him,
and thrice he accompanied the cloe in her night

HIS FIRST FORM 135

rounds and got a knowledge of the lay of the
country.

One day at dusk he left the nest and the narrow
grassy green amidst the rushes where he had
gambolled, and made his way down to the table-
land alone. He soon learnt that the country
over which he roamed was full of enemies, find-
ing to his surprise that even the rabbits were
unfriendly to him. His first form was on a pile of
earth in the middle of a field from which the
hay had recently been carried. Wild growth luxu-
riated there, and before he abandoned the heap
it was gay with the golden corymbs of the harvest-
flower. Thence he could hear the voices of the
hoers in the turnip-fields, the rumble of wheels in
the near lane, and morning and evening Shep's bark
as he drove the cows to the milking-shed. Lying
there all day, his long black-tipped ears flat on his
back, and his dark, hazel-rimmed eyes that never
wholly closed watchful of every movement in the
life around him, the hare was a timorous spy on the
ongoings of the farm where he was an unknown
guest. For nearly two months he occupied the form
undisturbed, but when the clover had grown again
bullocks were turned into the pasture to graze, and
one morning a lurcher dog that accompanied the

136 LIFE STORY OF THE JACK OF BARTINNEY

farmer on his round, found him in his seat and pur-
sued him so closely across three fields that he would
not have escaped its jaws but for the wiles he instinc-
tively used. He did not return to the seat for some
days and then, detecting that the stale scent of a
dog tainted the ragwort, he abandoned the field
altogether, and resorted to another form he had but
rarely used in the valley below Sancreed Beacon.
It was made amongst withering bracken on a mound
skirting a small stream, and dawn always found him
sitting in it. To baffle any enemy that might
follow his trail, he would run past his form, keeping
some twenty feet wide of it, and then double on his
foil. When opposite his seat he made a sidelong
spring, and then another which took him across the
stream to the mound. His eyes, ears, and nostrils
satisfying him that no enemy shadowed him, he crept
under the arch formed by the drooping fronds and
lay concealed until evening. He never failed to
take these precautions, and he soon had proof of
their necessity. Once, shortly after he was esconced,
he heard a slight rustling in some brambles on the
opposite bank a little way down stream. Presently
a long-bodied creature with dark fur emerged
from it. Though short of leg its agility was re-
markable, and with its nose to the ground it was

A POLECAT RUNS HEEL 137

evidently in quest of some victim's trail. It was a
polecat, which, on hitting the scent of the hare at the
spot whence he had taken his second spring, became
terribly excited. As if familiar with the wiles of its
favourite prey, the blood-thirsty creature began at
once to quarter the ground in its attempt to discover
the track. At length in making a wide cast it hit
the line, but followed it in a direction contrary to
that of the hare and, running heel, disappeared with
long bounds through the gap where the Jack had
passed less than half an hour before. Soon after-
wards the light crept down the hillside, and the
hare knew that the chattering, archbacked fiend
would not return, that the danger was past.
During the time he watched his enemy he never
stirred, and had the polecat discovered him he could
not have escaped, so helpless were his limbs from a
strange terror that possessed them — one which he
had not experienced when found by the lurcher.
Fortunately for the Jack, his greatest trials did not
overtake him until he came to his full strength and
had a perfect knowledge of the hills, where in order
to avoid his enemies he now made his forms. These
he never left — not even during the breeding season —
before sundown, when he stole down to the tableland.
One dark night he was cropping clover in a field at

138 LIFE STORY OF THE JACK OF BARTINNEY

Boscawen-un, near a circle of stones belonging to a
grey past of which no man knows the history.
Whilst browsing, he stopped now and again to
listen, as was his wont, and anon he heard a cry
that made his blood run cold. At first he thought
that two stoats were fighting on the other side of
the stone wall that bounded the field, but as the
horrid noise drew near the gap through which he
had come not long before, he stood up on his hind
legs and looked towards it. Then he saw not two
but five stoats come between the stone pillars where a
gate had once hung, and knew at a glance it was
his trail they were following. The dread of the
weasel is so paralysing that some hares — for, like
men, all hares have not the same courage — would
have crouched "on the ground, or dragged their
limbs in lessening circles until their fate overtook
them ; but not so this little Jack. He was away at
once at full speed, and the pack of fiends, sighting
him as he passed the rubbing-post near the middle
of the field, extended themselves at full gallop and,
as they seldom fail, when hunting together, to run
down their prey, reckoned they would soon be
sucking his blood. If the hare had had only the
danger behind to fear, his greater speed would soon
have enabled him to out-distance his pursuers,

A TRAGIC CHASE 139

astoundingly fleet of foot though they are for their
size. It was far otherwise ; for at every gap, at
every gate, he paused and snuffed the air for
tainted snare or lurking fox, and this allowed the
stoats to lessen the space that would else have
separated them. So that it gladdened the Jack's
eyes, when he had left the hamlets of Brahan and
Crowz-an-Wra behind, to see at last the murky cone
of Chapel Cairn Brea rising before him against the
scarcely less black sky. Once free of the cultivated
land he breasted the hill at his best pace, but on
reaching the summit paused near a ruined chantry,
to listen. His long ears were pricked to catch the
slightest sound that should break the unusual
silence.

The night was still as death, as if nature
held its breath at witnessing this tragic chase of its
own ordering, and before very long the hare heard
the weasel-cry coming from the direction where his
ascending track lay. At first it fascinated him as
it does all his tribe, and he felt inclined to stay and
await his fate ; but the love of life was too strong
within him, and shaking off the paralysing feeling
that was numbing his limbs, he set his head in the
direction of Bartinney. With his back to the
danger, terror seemed to add wings to his feet, and

140 LIFE STORY OF THE JACK OF BARTINNEY

like the wind he went down the eastern slope of
Chapel Cairn Brea until he reached the margin of
the Lidden's Pool. Instantly he dashed through
the shallows and, losing foothold where the water
deepened, swam across it in a slanting direction as
he had more than once seen the doe, his mother,
do. Having landed, he repeated his usual ruse,
and then squatted in a seat in some sedgy growth
not a stone's throw from the clump of rushes where
he was born. With the sheet of water, which is
some fifty yards wide, between him and his pur-
suers, he believed he was safe. Indeed, it did not
much disturb him to hear them coming down the
hill, but when he saw them take to the water, on
the black surface of which their glowing eyes
showed like green beads, he was filled with dismay.
They landed near him, for they had swum straight
across the pool, and at once, without staying to
shake their wet fur, strove to pick up the lost line,
two working the margin one way, and three the
other. Presently one succeeded, at the spot where
the hare had landed, near the extremity of a finger-
like creek, and making a cry, called the rest of
the pack, which flew to it. Then together they
followed the scent through the belt of rushes and
over the sable face of the heather, and coming to

THE MARAUDERS BAULKED 141

the end, spread out like a fan, the while making a
chattering noise, and displaying an activity more
fiendish than hound-like in their ineffectual
attempts to recover it beyond. A stoat which
seemed to be the leader, for he it was that came
first through the gap and afterwards led the others
across the pool, returned on the trail, making short
casts on each side of it, and only just failed to find
where the hare had landed from his first spring.
Wearying at last of his efforts, or fearful of being
discovered at daybreak on such a bare expanse of
moorland, he uttered a strange cry which summoned
the well-disciplined band around him. Less than a
minute later the terror-stricken hare, who had
watched their every movement, saw the baulked
marauders steal away over the shoulder of the hill
by a path slightly barer than the ground about it,
where a much-used bridle-track had been in the
days of pack-mules, before wheels rumbled over the
roads that now "ribbon" the countryside.

After this horrible experience it was long before
the hare ventured down to the lowlands. Save for
an occasional raid on a labourer's garden at the foot
of the hill, he contented himself with the less succu-
lent fare of a farm on the barren upland between
Bartinney and Caer Bran. The harder life was not

142 LIFE STORY OF THE JACK OF BARTINNEY

without its compensations. By journeying over
the hills in search of food — for at times he would
wander far to browse on wild thyme and other
tender herbage in sheltered spots of the waste — he
got to know his beats as well as the Earthstopper
knew every step of the rough ways between the
fox-holts. To this knowledge, and to his powers
of endurance thus strengthened, he owed his many
escapes from greyhounds, which he led by paths
that gave him the advantage.

His favourite seat at this time, when persecu-
tion had driven him from his old ones, was amongst
the sere grasses that grew on an ancient earth-
work or "gurgoe" near the summit of Bartinney.
In winter-time few bleaker spots can be found
than the crest of this Cornish height, to which
the scanty herbage clings close like a skull-cap, and
on which stonecrop and lichen make nearly as hard
a struggle for existence as the hare. Yet for one
thing the spot is favoured, inasmuch as it catches
the earliest rays of the sun when the slopes are
yet grey and the lowlands lie in gloom. This
advantage the hare did not fail to utilise. Re-
turning wet from the dew-drenched grasses in the
troughs of the hills, he would, before entering his
form, stand on the boulder crowning the crest, and

THE UPLAND PEACE 143

dry his fur as a cormorant dries his wings after
fishing.

During the great frost before the blizzard
he clung to the hilltop, and lay there under the
snow, with just a breathing-hole in the side of his
white hut. For three days he fed on the shoots of
the furze, but at last, hunger dispelling his fears, he
ventured down to a mowhay and had his fill of
clover from a stack near a dog-kennel. Fortunately,
snow fell that night and hid his tracks, so that he
was not followed next morning by poachers, as he
had been once before despite the long round he
took and the various shifts he resorted to for the
purpose of throwing them off his track.

" The many musets through the which he goes,
Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes."

In snow, storm, and sunshine, the hare clung to the
summit of the upland, and but rarely used the form
near the pool. Its solitude and the great silence
that brooded over it were almost as sweet to him
as life itself. Rarely did anything move across the
broad slopes he overlooked save the fleeting
shadows of the clouds. All the summer through
but one man came up the hill — an aged botanist he
was, of world-wide fame — who more than once toiled
to the top, and the hare got accustomed to the

144 LIFE STORY OF THE JACK OF BARTINNEY

gleam of his big spectacles and the flapping of his
long coat-tails, and somehow knew that he was
harmless, though his eyes, like those of the men
who had sought him with dogs, were always on the
ground.

On the dry bank, with the thick grasses
to screen him from the hot rays and the sea
breezes to fan him, he would sleep through the
noontide heat when the lizard left the sparse brake
to bask in the sun, and " king-crowner " butterflies
flitted above the crest, or settled on the outcropping
rocks to open and close their gorgeous wings
though there was no eye to admire their beauty.
In these neighbours the hare had nothing to fear,
nor in the kestrel that hovered over the hill, nor
now, in the raven that winged its way high over-
head as it crossed from the northern to the
southern cliffs.

This happy time lasted until the splendour of
the dwarf furze faded, and chill October stripped
the storm-bent thorns of foliage ; with the advent
of the black month (as the ancient Cornish styled
November) it came to an end, and the hare was
called upon to bear the greatest trial of his life.

CHAPTER XII
THE HARE — Continued

DIGORY STROUT AND FARMER PENDRE

ABOUT this time there returned to St Just a native
of the parish who had made his fortune in the Far
West of America. He was brought up as a miner,
but the discovery that enriched him was really due
to his love of sport. For, tiring of work in a
copper-mine, he took to trapping and big game
shooting, and one day in following the trail of a
grizzly in a remote gully, lit on a shallow creek con-
taining gold. The claim is worked out now ; but in
some maps of the States you will see, near the
Canadian frontier, a small river marked Digory's
Creek. Amongst the cottonwood and spruce trees
near its source, in the heart of the Great Divide, the
hunter built a log-cabin, hung up his traps, tethered
his favourite mare and pack-horse, and devoted his
whole energies to "panning out" the gold from

145 „

146 DIGORY STHOUT AND FARMER PENDRE

the sand. His fortune made, he returned after a
long absence to England, settled for a year in
Lancashire and attended coursing-meetings all over
the country. It was on his native downs that he
had first seen a course, and it may be that the sight
of a hare before greyhounds kindled old memories,
for Digory Strout frequently found himself think-
ing about his native village and the wild moorland
that runs up to it. At last a longing to see the old
place got so strong a hold on him that he resolved
to yield to it and pay a flying visit to West Corn-
wall. It was towards the close of a September day
that the carriage which had brought him from
Penzance reached the high ground above New
Bridge, overlooking the scene he remembered so
well. To the West, the roofs of St Just Church-
town were outlined against the bright sea ; and to
the North, grim and unchanged, old Cairn Kenid-
zhek crowned the bleak moorland and looked down
on the lonely farms lying like islands in the waste.
Digory gazed on these familiar landmarks with a
choking sensation in his throat, and when at length
he came in sight of the row of grey cottages where
he was born, his eyes filled with tears. The people
of St Just who remembered him when he set out as
a youth, welcomed him warmly, and he resolved to

ALL AGOG TO SEND A CHALLENGE 147

spend the winter among them. His decision made,
he sent for a famous greyhound he had bought, that
he might enjoy a few days' coursing during his
stay.

The arrival of the greyhound was an event in
the dull life of the parish, and the reason for the
interest it aroused is not far to seek. The St Just
men, the best of judges on a rich lode of tin and the
points of a greyhound, had no sooner cast eyes on
Digory's dog than they recognised what a perfect
creature she was. Such a greyhound had never
been seen in West Cornwall before ; and when it
leaked out, as somehow it very soon did, that she
had won the Liverpool Cup and had cost Digory
Strout a thousand guineas, the St Just men were
all agog that a challenge should be sent then and
there to Farmer Pendre of Selena Moor, whose
famous dog, Beeswing, had carried everything before
it the previous season, and turned the heads of the
men of Buryan. No doubt a coursing-match might
have been amicably arranged by the owners, but
unfortunately some of the miners let fall certain
taunts which reached the ears of their rivals
and stung them into a state of fury. Thus old
enmities were aroused, the two parishes became once
more involved in a feud, and Farmer Pendre, who

148 DIGORY STROUT AND FARMER PENDRE

was a hot-headed man, singled out Strout as his
enemy. Digory drove about the countryside
apparently unconcerned, but the feeling between the
parishes grew worse and worse ; and the constable
at Buryan, foreseeing a fray and being anxious to
take part in it, sent in his resignation. Matters
soon came to a head. A fortnight after the arrival
of Fleetfoot, as the greyhound was named, a fight
took place inside the Quaker's burial-ground between
a St Just man from Dowran and a Buryan man
from Crowz-an-Wra, and the St Just man got badly
beaten.

This was a spark that threatened to set the
inflammable material of the two parishes in a blaze ;
and no one knew this better than the manager of
Balleswidden mine, who, as soon as he heard the
result of the fight, knocked the ashes out of his
pipe, and went and saw the parson. What
happened in the study at the back of the rectory is
not known ; but, at all events, Parson Grose was
seen galloping through the Churchtown before nine
o'clock the next morning, and somehow everyone
knew that he was on his way to Buryan. When
he reached the high ground near Chapel Cairn
Brea and could see the road below him, there, to his
surprise, was Canon Roulson on his white horse

A STORM BREWING 149

coming uphill on his way to St Just. They met
where the parishes meet, and by the boundary-stone
they discussed the best means for allaying the
animosities of their parishioners.

In the end Parson Grose proposed that Farmer
Pendre should send a challenge to Mr Digory Strout,
and Canon Roulson as vehemently proposed that
Mr Digory Strout should send a challenge to Farmer
Pendre. Each advocated the cause of his own parish
with great warmth, speaking louder and louder,
until Parson Grose noticed a man who was plough-
ing two fields away stop his team to listen, and then
he gave in, certain that the canon would have his
own way, if they argued till doomsday. Their inter-
view over, the good parsons mounted their dobbins
and galloped home, only to find that Digory and
Pendre had gone to Penzance, for it was market-day
there. The rivals met at the junction of the St
Just and Land's End roads, and what must they do,
after looking daggers at one another, but race all the
way to the Western Hotel ? In Penzance they moved
about the streets until dinner-time with a supporter
on each side, and farmers, foreseeing an outburst at
the ordinary, flocked to the " Western " in such
numbers that sitting-room was hard to find. A
chair, however, at one end of the long table was re-

150 DIGORY STROUT AND FARMER PENDRE

served for Digory, who was two minutes late. S trout
was the coolest man in the crowded room, and seemed
to be enjoying the beefsteak-pie, for he had a second
helping ; but Farmer Pendre, who sat facing him,
spent the time in watching his rival from behind a
huge rump of beef. The general conversation, which
was fitful from the start, became hushed when the
cheese.came on, and Digory, who spoke in his ordinary
voice, could be clearly heard at the end of the room.
As he happened to make some casual remark in which
the words " best dog" occurred, up jumped Farmer
Pendre and in loud, excited tones exclaimed, " Ef
you want to find the best dog, you must look for et
outside St Just."

In the dead silence which followed, all eyes were
fixed on Digory, and the waiters moved about on
tiptoe. Digory sat turning over Farmer Pendre's
heated words during twenty seconds, which seemed
like twenty minutes to the company, then standing
up he said, " I hope I do not misinterpret the drift
of Mr Pendre's remark. If he means it for a chal-
lenge, I accept it. I am willing that my dog shall
run against his on Feasten Monday for any stakes
he likes to name." The emphatic manner in which
the company brought their glasses down on the
table, making the spoons ring again, showed they

THE CHALLENGE ACCEPTED 151

approved of Digory's challenge, which had been
uttered in a voice that betrayed no sign of passion.

" I accept your challenge, Mr Strout," said Farmer
Pendre, knocking over his neighbour's toddy as he
jumped up, " and will back my dog against yours for
^50, even money ; and if you're willin', we'll meet in
Sancreed Churchtown at ten o'clock on the morning
you name."

The diamond of Digory's ring flashed as he
waved his hand in assent, and immediately the buzz
of conversation around the table became deafening.
Thus was the match arranged, and a safety-valve
provided for the pent-up animosity of two parishes
which neither hurling nor wrestling had ever roused
to so dangerous a pitch. Before ten o'clock that
night it was known in every hamlet in the " West
Country " that Pendre's challenge — for so it was
put — had been accepted. In the interval between
the Thursday and Feasten Monday the subject of
coursing was in everybody's mouth, and people were
surprised that neither Canon Roulson nor Parson
Grose referred to it in their sermons on Sunday
evening.

CHAPTER XIII
THE HARE — Continued

THE COURSE

AT last the looked-for day — the third of November
— arrived, and fortunately it broke fine, without sign
of mist or fog. Not that any weather, however bad,
would have kept away the keen men who from all
the parishes around were making towards San-
creed. From St Levan, Sennen, Morvah, Madron,
Zennor, Paul, Gulval, they came in goodly numbers,
to say nothing of Buryan and St Just, till not only the
town-place — the square in front of the Bird-in-hand
— but also the roadway that skirts the high church-
yard wall were filled with a more excited throng than
ever gathered there in olden days to witness a miracle
play.

By the dial on the church-porch it was ten
o'clock when Digory Strout, accompanied by two
friends, drove down the " Beacon " road into the

162

AT THE TRYSTING-PLACE 153

town-place. He raised his black billycock hat and
stood bareheaded for a moment, in acknowledgment
of the cheers of his supporters. He was well dressed ;
and his brown velvet waistcoat emphasised the rich
yellow of the watch-chain, made out of the first nug-
gets he had found in his creek. He wore a big
moustache, otherwise he was clean-shaven, save for
the tuft of hair on his under lip, which, with his
sallow complexion, gave him a far-travelled look.
Everyone but Farmer Pendre was now present, and
whilst men were speculating why he was so late, the
penetrating notes of a horn were heard above the din,
and shortly after the crowd fell back on either side
as his tandem dashed up the road into the Square.

Pendre, whose Sunday-best suit was set off by
a brand-new white hat and crimson neck-tie, created
a favourable impression by the smart way he handled
the two chestnuts ; but it was the fawn-coloured grey-
hound, arrayed in a green coat on which fifteen balls
had been worked in yellow silk, that fixed the gaze
of the St Just men. He carried himself as if con-
scious that all eyes were on him, and no one could
deny that he was a grand dog, or that his head,
perfectly set as it was on his graceful neck, was a
collection of good points.

The rousing cheer that rose from the throats

u

154 THE COURSE

of the Buryan men was tauntingly answered by the
St Just men crowding the upper half of the Square ;
but at the moment when things threatened a fray,
the venerable parson, who had been standing under
the trees near his gate, walked across between the
hostile ranks, and shook hands with each of the
owners. This well-timed act was not without its
sobering effect on the crowd ; but it was remarked
that Strout and Pendre did not exchange any
form of greeting, though they stood side by side on
the broad granite flagstone before the inn door.

No time was lost in making the necessary ar-
rangements. Five men were chosen on each side
to find a hare, and a great compliment it was deemed
to be one of them. The places of honour at the
ends of the line were assigned to Matthey Thomas
of St Just Churchtown and Bethias Wallace of
Buryan. The ten were driven to Chapel Cairn
Brea ; the slipper followed with the greyhounds ; and
close behind rode Mr Heber, the well-known judge,
who had come straight from the great meeting at
Amesbury. It had been decided to search Cairn
Brea, Bartinney, Caer Bran, and the Beacon, in the
order named, and a more picturesque setting for the
day's sport could not have been chosen. Nowhere
has nature fixed more graceful curves against the

THE CORNISH HEIGHTS 155

sky than those presented by the undulating outline
of these last four of the Cornish heights. Let the
reader imagine four cones, with bases wide for their
height, forming a row parallel to the length of a
table on which they are placed. He will then have a
rude representation in miniature of the conformation
of the country, washed on three sides by the sea,
which the hills overlook.

The top of Bartinney was soon crowded with
spectators, so too were the old earthworks on Caer
Bran, and a big crowd followed the beaters. These
were extended in a line on the western slope
of Cairn Brea, and working the ground in front of
them as they advanced up the hill was Ben
Corin's harrier Tuneful, a dog reputed to have
the best nose in the nine parishes. The slipper held
the greyhounds in a leash in the middle of the line,
and the judge rode a little on one side to the rear.
Of the crowd on Bartinney that eagerly awaited
their appearance on the hill-crest, Parson Grose was
perhaps the only one who turned his thoughts from
the sport to scan the tableland, so rich in vestiges
of the past, which lay spread out like a map some
four hundred feet below. To him it was the forlorn
refuge of the ancient Celt, a scene of the early
Church's activity, a land of legend and romance.

156 THE COURSE

The old antiquary's eyes wandered from the grey
towers of the mediaeval churches to the site of holy
well and ruined baptistery, wayside cross and
sanctuary, monolith and stone circle, cromlech and
cave-dwelling. Once indeed he raised his eyes from
the narrow promontory to the far western horizon,
where a broken line, dimly discernible, marked the
position of the Isles of Scilly. But his attention
was soon recalled by a murmur that ran through
the crowd gathered round Digory, at the sight of
the judge on horseback and the beaters as they
showed on the skyline before descending the eastern
slope. Stunted furze and heather, with here and there
a patch of golden bracken, clothe the sides of the hills,
and the Lidden's pool, encircled by rushes and sere
grasses, gleams in the trough below them. On reach-
ing the sheet of water the St Just men take to the
left, the Buryan men to the right, and with the latter
go the slipper, in charge of the dogs, and the judge.
Scarcely have they separated when Bethias ' pricks '
a hare ; again its track is seen by a Buryan man,
and simultaneously on the other side of the pool the
harrier begins to feather on a line, and once she
throws her tongue. Every clump of rushes, every
patch of coarse grass, is carefully searched ; and just
as every one begins to fear that the hare has passed

SEE-HO ! 157

over the hill, from the extreme left of the St Just
line comes the almost whispered exclamation, " See-
ho ! " It is Matthey Thomas who has viewed the
hare where she sits some twenty yards ahead, and
instantly withdrawn his gaze.

The line stops ; the judge, slipper, and dogs
come round, pass through the excited crowd,
and join Matthey, who points out the hare, or
rather the spot where she is lying, for he alone can
see her. He is then directed to start her, and with
him go the judge and the slipper. When they are
within five yards of the form, out goes the little Jack,
his head set in the direction of Bartinney. The
greyhounds strain at the leash, dragging the slipper
with them, but not until the hare has forty yards'
start does the judge give the word to loose them.
Like arrows released from the bow, they are off, and
every eye is on them. Seldom if ever has a more
exciting course been witnessed.

At first the greyhounds gain on the hare, but
the rising ground to which he is leading them is in
his favour, for there at almost every bound his
pursuers sink into the stunted furze skirting the
narrow " run " he knows so well.

Near the top of the hill better foothold enables
them to hold their own, but they do not regain an

158 THE COURSE

inch of the ground they have lost. At amazing
speed the hare passes the crowd on Bartinney a
good thirty yards ahead of the greyhounds, and
takes to the eastern slope. So far not a point
has been scored by either dog, but near the foot of
the hill Fleetfoot turns the hare, and then it looks
as though Beeswing must kill. Scarcely ten yards
separate greyhound and hare as they sweep across
the two furlongs of flat ground that runs up to the
moorland farm over which the Jack has so often
wandered. A sudden turn lets in Fleetfoot, and
the greyhounds are dead level, with the hare just
in front of them, when a hundred yards from the
gate for which he is heading. Surely he will never
reach it ... yes, for the greyhounds are jumping
the gate as he passes underneath, and even as they
are in mid-air he doubles back under it and follows
the cattle-track skirting the boundary-wall of the
farm. When the dogs view him again, he is at least
thirty yards to the good once more, and heading
for Caer Bran. Gradually they reduce his lead,
and beyond an open stretch of turf, where, to the
surprise of the judge, Beeswing had given Fleetfoot
the go-by, points are scored by both dogs ; and
then a wilderness of pits and mounds receives the
hare just in time to save him from Beeswing's jaws.

A NARROW ESCAPE 159

At headlong speed he threads this maze just in
front of the greyhounds, making the air hum as he
dashes along the rough ways.

On issuing from it the hare turns suddenly
to the left, and skirts some furze-bushes that
screen him from the gaze of the dogs. See !
they have lost him, but the high springs they
are taking will enable them to sight him the
instant he leaves the shelter of the last furze-
bush. Yes, they view him at once ; and the
course is resumed under the eyes of the spectators
on Caer Bran. To them, in spite of the twenty
yards he has gained, ft seems impossible for the
Jack to reach the Beacon, for which he is now
evidently making. Moreover, the steep lane he
takes to, in full view of the greyhounds, is all in
their favour and, rapid as is the pace of the hare,
the leaps of the greyhounds are bringing them close
to his scut. They are running neck and neck, and
almost mouthing him.

At this critical moment he rushes through
a bolt-hole in a single-stone wall, in clearing
which the greyhounds show again in the air
together. He keeps to the rough grass -field on
the other side until they are nearly on him, and
then, as suddenly as before, passes through another

160 THE COURSE

opening in the wall, crosses the lane, and threads
some scattered furze-bushes on a narrow strip of
common that lies at the foot of Sancreed Beacon.
Whether the greyhounds were exhausted by the
long course, or whether they lost sight of the hare,
is not certain ; at all events they were found in a
very distressed condition, lying side by side on a
patch of grass amongst the furze, and the little Jack
got clear away.

"Bravo, puss!" were the judge's words, as he
followed the hare with his eyes as far as the little
plantation of storm-bent pines half-way up the hill.
Mr Heber was not the last to view him, for Uncle
Johnnie Lairdner, the sexton, was on the Beacon
when the hare passed over it, and has left it on
record that though the Jack was black with sweat,
no sign of arch in his back could he see, and he
was goin' like a ball.

The greyhounds were at once taken to Sancreed
Churchtown ; and thither the spectators hurried,
across croft and field, every one anxious to know
which dog was adjudged the victor. The excite-
ment in the town-place baffles description. The St
Just men would have it that their dog had won, and
of these no one was more conspicuous than was he
whose eyes yet showed traces of the fight. The

THE JUDGE'S DECISION 1i,l

Buryan men were not quite so confident, though
they knew that their dog had never run better.
Some noticed, after the rivals had exchanged a
few words with the judge, that Digory looked
disappointed and Pendre jubilant ; but this was set
down to difference of temperament, and not until at
last the judge spoke, did the impatient crowd know
the result of the course.

Standing in a wagonette between the owners,
this — and here let me thank the Editor of the
Lands End Courier for a copy of the speech — is
what Mr Heber said : —

"Gentlemen, I have judged at many meetings,
but never at one where so great an interest has
been taken in a single course. You may tell me
that this is the result of parish rivalry, but I strongly
suspect that at the bottom of it lies that love of
sport which characterises no Englishman more than
a Cornishman, and no Cornishman more than a
native of St Just." His voice was feeble for so big
a man, but now it sank almost to a whisper.

" I can tell by your breathless attention that you
are anxious to know which dog I judge the winner
of the stakes. That my decision will be loyally ac-
cepted by loser as by winner I have not a shadow
of a doubt." In the pause which followed, the cock

162 THE COURSE

in the glebe farm crowed. "Gentleman, I have
never had a more difficult course to adjudicate on ;
I have never seen two better dogs run side by side,
I may say, neck to neck. One of the greyhounds
is already famous, having won the blue ribbon of the
Leash ; the other, a dog of pure Cornish breed, is
known as the Champion of Cornwall. There is
little to choose between these two wonderful dogs ;
but there is a difference, if slight, on to-day's form,
and I declare Beeswing the winner by a single
point."

The applause, renewed again and again by nearly
all except the St Just men, was deafening : it scared
the jackdaws away from the church tower. It was a
trying few minutes for the losers, who stared at the
elated winners with angry eyes, their fists clenched,
and their faces white. They might indeed have
come to blows if Digory had not spoken ; but if the
St Just men were resolved to break the peace the
following speech averted a collision.

" Fellow Cornishmen, I little thought when bid-
ding farewell to the men of my claim that the next
occasion on which I should address an assembly
would be in Sancreed Churchtown. Silence is
golden, they say ; but to-day's proceedings will, in my
opinion, be all the better for being rounded off with

DIGORY'S SPEECH 163

a few words of conciliation. First, let me thank Mr
Heber for coming all this way to act as judge. No
more competent man could have been chosen ; and
though his verdict is against my dog, I accept it
without demur, and frankly own that to-day Fleet-
foot was beaten ! Mr Pendre," said he, turning to
the farmer, whose white hat was tilted on the back
of his head, " I congratulate you on your success.
I own that I never thought your dog would be a
match for the winner of the Cup ; but believe me,
though I confess to being disappointed, ' nip and
tuck ' race though it was, I find some consolation
in the fact that it was by a dog of pure Cornish
pedigree that Fleetfootjjwas beaten.

" One other thing, gentleman, let us not forget
the wonderful staying power of that little Jack,
which practically ran both dogs to a standstill."
(Hear, hear, from the judge.)

" The only fault to be found with Cornish hares
is, that there are too few of them. In furtherance of
sport in general as well as for my own pleasure, I
purpose, if the farmers do not object, releasing a
hundred hares on the waste land between Mulfra
and Kenidzhek. If I settle down at home, I should
like to be able to calculate on our having a good
day's coursing together. Some people who have

164 THE COURSE

never been abroad wonder that I do not return
to the Far West. My answer is, 'a hare on our
own downses means more to me than a bear on a
furrin' range.' (Great applause.) I do not know
that I have anything further to add than to ask Mr
Pendre to shake hands with the loser."

Now, after the hard things that had been said
about Digory, this was considered very handsome
on his part : so that even the Buryan men, whilst
emotion swayed them, felt sorry that he had lost, and
after the rivals had shaken hands amidst thundering
applause the Buryan men kept crying, " Pendre,
Pendre," till the farmer, though unused to any meet-
ing bigger than an Easter Vestry or Balleswidden
" account," felt that, all " mizy-mazy " as his brain
was, he must say something.

"Gentlemen, I never felt so flambustered in all
my born days. I'm no orator like Mr Strout, but I
also should like to thank the judge for his day's
work. Gentlemen, what's the use of saying to the
contrary when you don't feel it? I'm glad that
Beeswing won, and it's downright honest truth,
though I say it (great laughter) ... I couldn't have
lost and not showed it, like Mr Strout. Maybe
that comes of travellin' in furrin' paarts, for I've
never been out of sight of Buryan tower for a whole

A FRIENDLY FINISH 165

day in my life. Now let me tell ee somethin'. It
is not the furst, it's not the second time that Bees-
wing has coused that leel Jack ; and I knawed un the
minit he jumped up by a whitey mark on the niddick.
In conclusion, let me tell ee to your face, Mr Strout,
that you're a sportsman ; and if I've shawed ee any
ill feelin', and I fear I have, I ask ee to overlook it.
I wish ee well, and every St Just man godspeed."
(Applause.)

Thus amicably ended that day's coursing match,
which is now a tradition, its minutest details accu-
rately passed on by the farmers in the chimney-
corners of the West Country.

Digory was as good as his word ; and in the
following June a consignment of a hundred and
fifteen hares arrived at Penzance from Salisbury
Plain. These were set free on Bartinney, Mulfra,
the Galver, Kenidzhek and the Dry Cairn, and
for some years afterwards the country was well
stocked.

Unfortunately the conditions of existence have
proved too hard for them, and little by little they have
had to yield in the struggle against their many
enemies, until to-day a hare is as scarce in the Land's
End district as when Digory returned home from
the Rocky Mountains. Nevertheless, a few hardy

166 THE COURSE

survivors are still found on the hills ; and when, as
generally happens, the hare outruns the dogs — de-
scendants perhaps of Beeswing and Fleetfoot — the
disappointed sportsman attributes its escape, not to
witchcraft, but to stamina derived from the strain of
the little Jack of Bartinney.

CHURCHTOWN.

[Face page 166.

CHAPTER XIV

A MIDNIGHT VISIT TO THE SEAL-CAVES

THE wildest of British wild sports is the pursuit of
the seal in the almost inaccessible cliff-caves to
which it at times resorts. Of its haunts along the
north coast of Cornwall — it is but rarely seen on
the south — from the Land's End to Tintagel, the
caverns of Hell's Bay are perhaps those which it
most frequents. More secluded or safer fastnesses
it would be difficult to imagine, yet in these it may
be surprised by those who do not shrink from the
peril the pursuit involves. The nearest homestead
to the Black Cliffs, as those skirting Hell's Bay are
named, is Reskageage ; and to its occupant, Mr
N., who has led many expeditions against the seals,
I owed the opportunity of sharing a bit of sport
the wildness of which it is beyond my power to
declare.

He had promised to send me word when circum-

167

168 A MIDNIGHT VISIT TO THE SEAL-CAVES

stances seemed favourable to our purpose, and one
morning towards the end of September 1 89-, whilst
staying at St Ives, I received the following message
from him : — " Come if possible to-morrow (Thurs-
day) afternoon. I have just seen three seals under
the cliffs, and the chances are we shall find some in
the caves, as they have not been disturbed for a long
time. One of the light-keepers of Godrevy tells me
that he has not seen so many playing about the
reef for years. If you sail across the bay and the
water is smooth, land on the north side of the Red
River."

After sending a wire that I should come without
fail, I made arrangements with a boatman to take
me across the bay. It was close on three o'clock
the following afternoon when we rounded the pier
head and set the bow of our little craft for Gwithian
beach. A fair wind filled the brown sail and drove
us at a merry pace over the waves of this loveliest
of bays, where the Cornish sea displays its vividest
hues in a setting of silver sand. Landing was
practicable, and the boat was beached near where
my friend was awaiting me on the shore.

"You're rather late," said he, as we shook
hands.

" Well now, you had better go and have a good

A STREET AT ST IVES.

[Puce page 16§.

GWITHIAX CLIFFS 169

look at the cliffs whilst it's light. You'll see where
I've been whitewashing the rocks. Get the twists
and turns of the way down fixed in your mind : that
will be helpful later on. In the meanwhile I'm going
to overhaul the whole of the gear."

I took the direction he indicated and, stepping
out briskly across the intervening neck of rising
ground between the two bays, soon reached the
dizzy edge of the cliffs. A little on my left hand,
zigzagging down the steep descent and almost to
the edge of the foam, lay a white dotted line
that was to guide us in the darkness. The mouths
of the caves — there are four — frequented by the
seals were some two or three hundred feet below
me, but I could not see them.

Bleak and lone are these Gwithian cliffs, merci-
less the winds that sweep them. Not a tree or a
bush is to be seen, and even the heather is stunted.
No note of songbird meets the ear, nor scream of
seafowl, only the sullen boom of the Atlantic ground-
swell in the caves so far below. Along the coast
towards Newquay sunlit headlands stretched out
into the ocean ; and the low promontory of Trevose,
dim and unsubstantial-looking, lay on the far horizon.
The mellow rays of the sun now and again caught
the snow-white plumage of some bird along the

170 A MIDNIGHT VISIT TO THE SEAL-CAVES

coast, and lit up the surf at the foot of the distant
cliffs.

Not a gull floated over the bay below me ;
but a string of cormorants, with black flight,
skimmed the heaving surface just beyond the dark
shadow of the coastline, and disappeared round a
jagged point.

I was following the last of these birds with
my eyes, when my gaze was arrested by the
appearance of a seal below me, and as far as I
could judge, not twenty yards from the mouth of
one of the caves. It carried its head, which looked
as black as jet, clear of the surface, and betrayed
not the least sign of alarm. After about a minute
it sank — it did not dive — out of sight. I remained
watching, in 5 the hope that the quaint-looking
creature would show itself again ; but, as it gave no
sign and the sun was nearing the horizon, I left the
cliff and made my way across the heather and
stubble to Reskageage.

I found my friend in the barn. The light of
a candle stuck against the wall fell on the sun-
browned faces of the farmhands, who watched
him as he overhauled the equipment for our ex-
pedition. The various details were displayed on
the lid of a big wooden chest that had once held

THE EQUIPMENT 171

the tin-ore between "ticketing" days at Wheal
Margy. There lay some dozen torches, consist-
ing of small branches of elm, about three feet in
length, with pieces of white rag wound round one
end and secured by bits of string ; three small
bottles containing oil, a rather heavy hammer with
a new haft about three and a half feet long, a power-
ful gaff, a long-bladed knife, a revolver and cartridges.
Near a big coil of rope was a sack of very bulky
appearance, which somewhat excited my curiosity.
Undoing the string round the neck of it, my friend
drew out a rope-ladder ten inches in width and
between fifty and sixty feet long. The rungs were
of iron, about three-eighths of an inch in diameter,
and perhaps fourteen inches apart. The strength of
the ladder had previously been tried by the tug-of-war
test, but now my host carefully examined the rope
where it passed through eyes in the rungs, to make
sure that it had not been weakened by friction or by
rust. No defects being found, the free ends of the
ropes were tied together, forming a triangle with the
top rung ; and the ladder was again stowed away
in the sack. The big coil of rope was next over-
hauled. It was knotted at intervals of about three
feet.

"What's that for?" I asked.

172 A MIDNIGHT VISIT TO THE SEAL-CAVES

" We keep that up in the adit, in case anything
goes wrong with the ladder."

"And the knots?"

"They make swarming up easier."

A vague idea of the mode of approach and of
egress from the cave began to dawn upon me.
"There's only one way out?" I inquired.

" By the adit is the only way, unless you swim
for it before the tide covers the mouth of the cave."

"There's some ledge out of reach of the tide,
where you can wait till it falls ? "

" No, there's scarcely foothold for a shag or a
cliff-owl on the walls of the big cave."

I confess to feeling slightly unnerved at the pros-
pect, the perilous character of which was now
evident. However, I meant going through with
the business, which was of my own inviting ; but
though I had the utmost confidence in my friend, it
seemed to me it would be safer, in the event of
accidents, that three rather than two should descend
into the "big cave," as he had called it. It is try-
ing enough to a novice to be let down over a cliff in
broad daylight to reach a peregrine's or raven's nest,
but I could see that was nothing in comparison with
the night expedition before me. In the circum-
stances, it is natural that the idea of sending for the

ANDREW SENT FOR 173

Earthstopper should have occurred to me. Not
only was he accustomed to the cliffs at night, but he
was of firm nerve and of ready resource. I lost no
time in suggesting it ; already I feared it was too
late.

"Very well," replied my friend, "in case of acci-
dent — not that I expect any, mind you — we
couldn't have a better man. Fill in a form — you will
find some on my table — and Tom there shall take it
at once. There isn't a moment to lose."

A few minutes later the lad was cantering down
the lane between the sand-dunes with this mes-
sage : "Be here by midnight. Ride or drive.

Seal hunt between twelve and one. T , Res-

kageage, Gwithian."

My friend was extinguishing one of the torches
as I re-entered the barn. Evidently he was not
content until he had tested everything, even the oil.
I could not but remark to him on the extreme care
of his preparations.

" I like to see to every detail myself in a
ticklish job of this sort," he said, as he laid
the torch down by the side of the gaff: "a weak
spot in the rope, a flaw in the haft of the hammer,
bad cartridges or wet matches, may mean more
than spoiled sport,"

174 A MIDNIGHT VISIT TO THE SEAL-CAVES

Leaving the barn, we made our way across the
rickyard to the house.

A cold wind was rustling the leaves of the wind-
dipt elm that had supplied handles for our torches ;
and, as the air was chilly, I was glad to get indoors.
After supper we withdrew into my friend's sanctum
and pulled our chairs up to the furze fire which
blazed on the wide hearth. Cases of rare birds and
curious relics hung against the walls, and the floor
was covered with sealskins.

In reply to some questions about the seals,
my host told me it was an old man that spent
most of his time about the cliffs, egg-collecting,
and looking for things cast up by the sea, who
had first called his attention to them. This had
led to his finding a way to the caves — for the
secret had died with the smugglers who used them
— and eventually to the animals themselves. The
greatest number of seals he had killed at one time
was seven, he said, and the heaviest carcase would
weigh five or six hundredweight. His opinion was
that at least some of the seals remain on the coast
all the year round, and that they do not go far out
to sea to fish. They fed chiefly on the herring, but
he had seen one rise in Hell's Bay with a big flat-
fish of some sort, probably a turbot, writhing in its

THE EARTHSTOPPEITS ARRIVAL 175

mouth. Then, suddenly jumping up in the middle
of an explanation why the eye of the seal is big and
the otter's small — " He's coming," said he.

We went to the garden gate and looked down
the road and, sure enough, a light was coming
towards us.

" How on earth did you know he was close at
hand ? " I asked in surprise. " You didn't hear any-
thing, did you ? "

"No, I did not hear the horse neigh nor the
sound of its hoofs, for they fell and are still falling
on sand ; but the dog must have heard, for I
noticed him prick his ears and listen. You see,
Andrew's time was all but up ; and, putting the
two together, I didn't hesitate to say he was
coming."

More and more distinct grew the light ; then we
heard the thud of hoofs where the track is clear of
sand ; and at last Andrew, seated on a rough pony,
and holding the lantern in his left hand, emerged from
the darkness.

"Good evening, gentlemen. I was afeerd I was
too late, though I've shogged on as fast as I could."

The old shepherd having taken charge of the
steaming pony, we soon had the Earthstopper before
the furze fire.

176 A MIDNIGHT VISIT TO THE SEAL-CAVES

"That looks cheerful after the black night, tho'
et do make ee blink like a cat at fust."

" You've had a lonely ride, Andrew ? "

" No, sir, I'm never lonely, unless maybe when
stopping the Land's End cliffs on a wild night.
Why, Lelant flats was all alive with curleys and sea-
birds as I crossed the Caunsway. Niver heerd such
whistlin' in all my born days. Et must be gettin'
on for low water."

" Well now, drink up that glass of toddy and
we'll be on the move. It's half an hour to low water,
and it's time we were on our way."

Whilst my friend was saying this, I looked at the
hands of the clock in the corner. It was seven
minutes past twelve. Our equipment having been
divided among us, we set out across the fields for
the cliffs.

" We've forgotten the sack," I said, as we crossed
the stubble.

" That's all right," replied my friend.

It was indeed a black night, as the Earthstopper
had remarked. A great bank of cloud hung like a
curtain before the western heaven, and shut out the
light of half the stars. On our left Godrevy shot
out its warning beams at regular intervals, and far
away up channel Trevose light shone bravely in the

DOWN THE CLIFF 177

gloom. The keen, salt wind blew straight in our
faces as we breasted the high ground near the sea.
By-and-by the sullen roar which reached our ears
made us cautious, for we had neared the edge of the
cliff ; and, when we had roped ourselves together, our
guide took the lead and we began the steep descent.

The otter excepted, there is no more wary animal
than the seal ; so we climbed down past the stones,
ghost-like in their white shrouds, as noiselessly as
possible, and at length arrived at the foot of the cliff.
There was no beach, only huge wet boulders, between
which the tide gurgled. We had scrambled — it was
rough going — some distance over these rocks before
I felt a pull on the rope, and then, peering through
the darkness, I saw that our guide was standing at
the entrance to a tunnel that proved to be the way
into the seals' cave, the mouth of which is unap-
proachable except by boat. Here we met with an
unexpected impediment. The mast of a ship had
got wedged into the passage, leaving only a narrow
space between its splintered surface and the rocky
walls.

" Hand over your lantern, Andrew," said my
friend, as he struck a match on his trousers.

" It's all right," said he, holding the light against

the mouth of the tunnel ; " I think we can get through.

z

178 A MIDNIGHT VISIT TO THE SEAL-CAVES

Now, undo the rope, and follow me as quiet as mice.
You've got the hammer, Andrew ? "

"Yes."

This in whispers ; and then we squeezed through
the cramped space. The passage was some five feet
in height and four in breadth. The floor was very
irregular, and covered with water lying in pools of
varying depths. At the further side of a deep pool
our guide paused, and held a light over the water.
This enabled me to avoid the holes between the loose
rocks at the bottom, and I managed to get through
by wading thigh-deep. The old Earthstopper in
his fur cap and velveteen coat followed, trying the
depth with the long, white haft of the hammer he
carried. I noticed that he left the water as noise-
lessly as an otter would have done. The increasing-
noise of the waves warned us as we progressed along
the tunnel, that we were getting near the seals' re-
treat. In the great cave in which we soon stood,
the roaring at its mouth and the reverberations
within produced a noise that was deafening. Three
torches were lit ; and we advanced over some loose
rocks and shingle to a shelving bed of white sand, on
which the seals are generally found. Down this, when
surprised, they shuffle to face their enemies and meet
death. It was disappointing to find none at home.

A SEA-HALL 179

We then proceeded to explore the inmost re-
cesses, to reach which we had to scramble on all
fours between the descending roof and the ascending
floor of the cave. In one of these, that reminded
me of a chapel in Westminster Abbey, was a
baby seal, which, judging from its plaintive bleats,
seemed to know the danger it was in. It was about
a foot and a half long, of a creamy colour, with big,
pleading eyes. Leaving the little creature we re-
turned to the rocky part of the floor, and held the
torches high above our heads to try to illuminate
the cave. We could see the great walls of rock for
perhaps twenty or thirty feet, but the light failed to
scatter the gloom which ever shrouds the lofty roof.
Here and there in these darker heights projections of
rock were dimly visible, looking like spectral faces
craned forward to peer at us. It was a weird scene
that this great, resounding ocean-hall presented, and
one that haunts the memory. There is little wonder
that legends and superstitions cluster round these
caves.

"Come," said our guide, " there's no time to be
lost," and in a few minutes we were again scrambling
between the mast and the rock. I was glad to get
a glimpse of the stars again. Out at sea, I could
discern the light of some vessel going up towards

180 A MIDNIGHT VISIT TO THE SEAL-CAVES

the Bristol Channel. As I climbed the dusky cliff-
side on the heels of our guide, and with Andrew
behind me, I tried to brace my nerves for the ordeal
that lay before us. The approach to the cave for
which we were making is fraught with peril. Few
attempt it, and of those few scarce one makes the de-
scent a second time. This cave is the securest strong-
hold of the seals along the wild coast of Cornwall.

We might have made our way up some seventy
feet when the guide struck a rude track on the cliff-
side, and this we followed until the light of the lantern
fell on the old shepherd sitting with the sack contain-
ing the rope-ladder. We had arrived at the entrance
to the adit for which we were making, and along
this we all proceeded in single file. It was a strange
way of reaching a cave the mouth of which lay sixty
feet below. We had not advanced thirty yards be-
fore we could hear the hollow roar of the waves.

" Be careful here," said the guide, as he held his
torch over a chasm. For some reason, a piece of
the partition-wall between the adit and the cave has
been destroyed, and with it half the narrow footway.
It was a dangerous spot to pass in the lurid, unsteady
light ; but the shepherd made nothing of it, and as
the projecting part of the sack on his back lay over the
chasm when he skirted it, he was able to hug the wall

THE ADIT 181

on his right. Some thirty yards farther in, the
tunnel pierced the wall of the cave, and again
the hollow roar of the sea reached our ears.
Whether the adit was driven on a vein of copper is
uncertain, but there is no doubt that at one time it
was used by smugglers. Kegs of brandy, lace and
silk goods were probably taken to the mouth of the
cave in boats, and afterwards hauled up to the tunnel
and, as opportunity offered, distributed thence over
the countryside amongst the smugglers' clients, to
wit, the magistrates, landlords, and tenant farmers.
Projecting from the wall of the cave, about a foot
above the level of the adit, is a stout iron bar, over
which our guide, by leaning forward, placed the end
of the ladder so that the ropes which had been
knotted together lay on each side of it, in the acute
angle between the bar and the wall. The ladder
was then dropped in the chasm. Clink, clink, clink
— clink — clink. The seals must surely have been
startled by the unusual noise made by the iron rungs
striking against the rocky wall of their wild retreat.
Vain warning ! for some of the big boulders which
cover part of the floor of the cave are dry at low
water, and effectually prevent their escape. Our
guide was the first to descend. I followed him into
the dark abyss. The descent down the wooden

182 A MIDNIGHT VISIT TO THE SEAL-CAVES

ladders of a tin-mine is child's play to going down a
rope-ladder which lies against a sheer wall. Twice
my feet lost grip of the slender staves, and the second
time, failing to recover the rung, I had to go down
hand over hand to the point where the ladder hung
clear of the rock. Here it twisted and turned, adding
a little variety to the difficulties of the descent. The
Earthstopper, with the hammer slung across his
back, followed, coming down hand over hand nearly
the whole way.

"That ladder's a rum un ! " he shouted in my
ear, as we stood on the rock near the foot of it.

Two lighted torches were then fixed in crannies
in the walls ; and after lighting three others, we
moved forward, each holding one in his left hand.
Beyond the slippery boulders over which we were
creeping, the flare of the torches fell on the heaving
surface of a deep, rocky pool.

" Look out ! " shouted my friend, " they're in."

We drew a little nearer to the water, now lashed
into foam as a seal rushed up and down. Two shots
were fired as its glistening head showed above the
water, but the only effect as far as I could see was
to enrage the creature, and make it more aggressive
than at first. For, when it reached our end of the
pool again, it threw itself out of the water on to a

A SEAL KILLED 183

rock, where it rested momentarily, looking more like
some antediluvian creature sculptured in black
marble than a living seal. Then with a hoarse roar
it slid down the face of the rock and shuffled towards
us in a most menacing manner.

" Stand clear, and don't fire again ! " shouted
Andrew as he swung the hammer preparatory to de-
livering a blow. My friend jumped aside ; and, as
the huge brute came within striking distance, the
hammer caught it full on the head and felled it to
the ground. A tremor passed over the body ; the
seal was dead.

Whilst the battle lasted, angry bellowings came
from the shelving beach beyond, where other seals
— blurred, restless forms — awaited our attack. But
wholesale slaughter was not our object ; not another
shot was fired. I would have liked to get nearer
to the herd, but the danger of crossing the pool
was too great.

"For God's sake, don't think of it!" shouted
my friend ; " we'll light more torches." This done,
Andrew picked up the one he had laid on the rocks,
and we advanced to the edge of the water with a
torch in each hand, holding them well up, and forward
at full arm's-length. It was the sight of a lifetime.
Five huge beasts, two grey, the rest a dirty

184 A MIDNIGHT VISIT TO THE SEAL (

yellow, mottled with black spots, lay swaying on the
sand, prepared to make a rush — they can shuffle
down a slope at a great pace — if we entered the pool :
and these were not all, for in dark recesses beyond I
saw indistinct forms move, and once I thought I
caught the gleam of liquid eyes. For several minutes
we stood fascinated by the wild scene, but it behoved
us not to linger. Once or twice I noticed my friend
turn his face towards the mouth of the cave. In
the excitement he had not forgotten that the tide had
turned. There was not time to skin the dead seal
and remove the blubber ; so my friend, who meant
coming for this purpose at next low water, went to
the foot of the ladder and shouted to the shepherd
to throw down the rope. With some difficulty he
made himself understood, for the roar of the waves
was now greater than ever ; and a few moments after
the shepherd had shouted " Stand clear ! " down came
the coil on to the boulders. One end of the rope was
tied securely to one of the flippers of the dead seal —
a huge beast — and the other round a rock on which
a bigger one rested. Andrew and I were taking a
last look at the seals when our guide called out that
there was no time to lose ; and, indeed, the tide was
washing the boulders at the foot of the ladder when
we got there.

WE LEAVE THE CAVE 185

" Take your time, sir," said Andrew as he held
the bottom of it, " and higher up, press your knee
against the wall, thet'll clear the staave above."

When a third of the way up, I looked towards the
inner part of the cave. Profound gloom shrouded it,
though the lights still flickered on the walls ; and the
seals, as far as I could hear, had ceased their angry
challenges. Having reached the adit, I held a torch
over the chasm to light the Earthstopper in his
ascent. When he was near the top of the ladder, I
saw that his face was spattered with blood. My
friend having also reached the adit, the ladder was
hauled up and put into the sack, and we made our
way again into the open air. Scarcely a word was
said as we climbed the cliff and crossed the heather
and stubble to the farmhouse. After a wash and
a hurried supper, the Earthstopper attached his
lantern to the saddle and rode down the track to-
wards Gwithian Churchtown. I could hear him
jogging along until he reached the place where the
road lies under feet of driven sand. The black
clouds had lifted a little, and Crobben Hill was dimly
discernible against the stars.

"Pity wecan't have spoart without killin'," were the
Earthstopper's words as we had stood near the dead

seal, and I thought of them as I turned to go indoors.

2 A

CHAPTER XV

REMINISCENCES OF BOYHOOD'S DAYS

SNOW had fallen heavily during the night, for at
daybreak it lay to a depth of several inches on the
grass under my window, and weighed down the
laurel-bushes that skirted it. It was an unusual
sight for a Cornish boy ; but more impressive was
the hush that had fallen on the world — the noiseless
footfall of man and horse and the muffled tones of
St Mary's bells, scarcely audible though an east
wind was blowing. This impression has never left
me, nor have many of the scenes that met my eyes
lost their vivid outlines. Despite the effacing
influence of time, I can still see clearly against the
white background the incidents of that Christmas-
tide. One word about the frost. It was sudden
as well as severe, so that even the men who watched
the skies for change of weather were taken by
surprise. The intense cold traversed the island as

186

A SHARP FROST 187

fast as the piercing wind that came with it, and
between sundown and dawn had laid its icy fetters
on the whole country. Thus Penwith for once
suffered with the rest of England, and even more
severely. Snowdrops had been already gathered in
sunny corners, and a quarryman on his way home
to Gulval had seen and picked a few primroses in
Trevaylor woods, for his sick wife. This became
known subsequently, when the gardeners sought
excuses for not having bound up the stems of the
palm-trees that had till then flourished in the semi-
tropical climate. Perhaps it is not strictly correct
to say that there was no warning of the frost.
Two days before it set in, John Harris, the light-
house-keeper, had found a woodcock with a broken
bill lying dead on the stage outside the lantern, and
near it a rare bird only seen so far west in rigorous
winters ; and those who took the side of the
gardeners said that, had he not kept the secret to
himself for fear of the game-laws, not only the palm-
trees, but also the old aloe in Alverton Lane that
had flowered the previous summer, might have been
saved. Whether the woodcock found by the light-
house-keeper was one of a big flight or whether the
birds arrived a day or so later is uncertain ; at all
events it was generally known on Christmas Day

188 REMINISCENCES OF BOYHOOD'S DAYS

that the furze-brakes were "alive with cock,"
tidings which raised a longing for the morrow in
the breast of the sportsmen. Among these was an
old friend whom I found busy in his sanctum filling
a leathern pouch with shot from a canister. A log
was blazing on the hearth. As I talked to him, I
noticed that the ruddy blaze was tinged with green.
I was puzzled to know the cause at the time, but I
have thought since that the colour must have been
due to a copper nail in the half-burnt piece of
oak. The mention of this recalls how I used to
enjoy sitting by that fireside, listening to the yarns
of the three sportsmen who foregathered there.
Who that ever heard them can forget the incidents
of that famous night's sea-fishing at the " Back of
the Island " ; the capture with the walking-stick rod
of the two-pound trout whose holt was the deep
pool under the roots of the sycamore at the foot of
the hilly field at Trewidden ; the vigils in the hut
at Trevider fowling-pool ; the great take of peal in
the trammel at Lamorna Cove, and the finding the
same morning of the otter drowned in the crab-pot
nearly half a mile seaward from the Bucks ? Few
sporting tales have appealed to me as did those I
overheard there ; and, unconsciously, the surround-
ings may have served to impress me as the setting

A SPORTSMAN'S DEN 189

of a play impresses the spectator in a theatre.
Trophies of the rod and gun mingled with quaint
relics of by-gone days, that gave an old-world look
to the room. Between cases of stuffed birds and
fishes hung pewter jugs, leather bottles, rosaries,
and crossbows. Above two sporting prints was a
dove-coloured top-hat, with a wide cork band and
" Quaker " brim. Few hats could boast such a
history as that, but I cannot tell it here. On a
shelf, between a bookcase and a corner-cupboard,
was the little basket that the woman carried who
used to distribute letters in Penzance in the early
part of the last century ; and below it was a sketch
of a contemporary of hers, the famous Joe Pascoe,
the one-armed constable, who, according to tradi-
tion, was a terror to badger- baiters and cock-
fighters, and a match for Boney himself. There,
too, was a sketch of Henry Quick, the Zennor
peasant-poet, with these lines of his under it :—

" Ofttimes abroad I take my flight,

Take pity on poor Henny ;
To sell my books 'tis my delight.
To gain an honest penny."

Under a coach-horn that had often awakened the
echoes of the Cornish hills, were three small
cabinets, my friend's own handiwork. The smallest

190 REMINISCENCES OF BOYHOOD'S DAYS

contained minute shells, carefully classified, which
he had collected on Porthcurnow and Gwenvor
beaches ; but more interesting to me than shells,
ferns, or wildflowers, was the collection of birds'
eggs. What rare ones some of those compartments
held! What trouble my friend had had in securing
them ! I have often questioned him about his
expeditions on the cliffs, but he preferred to dwell
on his visits to the outer islands of Scilly. The
rugged grandeur of Mincarlo and Menavawr
appealed to him ; yet Annet was his favourite, and
though he was a man of few words and free from
gush, I have heard him sigh when a sea-bird's egg,
or the lichen or withered thrift it rested on, recalled
the beauty of this islet, which, when the sea-pinks
are in bloom, glows under the June sun with the
brilliant beauty of an amethyst set in sapphire.

The room had one window only ; but it was a
spacious bay which faced south, and through it you
could see and hear the waves breaking on the beach
below. More than once that afternoon, before he
lit the lamp, my friend turned the spyglass on some
companies of wildfowl that dotted the rough water
between the " Battery" and Lareggan rocks.

A double-barrelled muzzle-loader — a Joe Manton
— was George Bevan's favourite gun ; and this, with

SPORTING FEVER 191

powder-flasks, shot-pouches, caps and wads, were
placed ready for the next morning. Only a boy who
has been entered to sport and knows how the anti-
cipation of it fevers the blood, can understand how
impatiently I looked forward to the morrow. That
night I thought sleep would never come ; and at what
hour I fell off I do not know, for the frost had got
into the workings of our eight-day clock, and as for
the town clock, that could generally be heard the
town over, it might have stopped for all the sound it
made in striking. But I must have slept, for I was
half awakened by some noise against my window.
My first impression was that the snow had changed to
hail, but as the rattle grew louder I sat up in bed.
Then it was I heard, " Jack, get up!" faint and far
away, like the doctor's voice when you're coming to
after chloroform ; and almost immediately the memory
of everything came back to me — my friend's last as-
surance that he would call for me, the white world
outside and, most stirring of all, the woodcock await-
ing us in the furze-brakes. I was up in a jiffy, struck
a light, and dressed as hurriedly as a fourth-form
boy whom the first stroke of the call-over bell finds
in bed. The cold had not relented, for a film of ice
lay on the water in the jug, and by the candlelight I
saw that the window-panes were frosted over. This

192 REMINISCENCES OF BOYHOOD'S DAYS

was joy to me, for in my troubled sleep I had dreamt
that the commonplace world was back again, and
that every woodcock had flown away in the train of
the retreating frost. Moreover, when we set out,
the snow crunched under our feet, and a long icicle
was hanging from the stone lip of the Alverton chute.
Day was breaking when we reached the hilly field at
Rosehill and followed the path under the beech-trees ;
and it is there, for some reason I cannot explain,
that I best recall my old friend on that day. He
was well above the middle height, and strongly built.
The gun was slung across his back by means of a
leather strap. The coat of heather-mixture he wore
had, besides big side-pockets, several subsidiary ones,
and there were leather pieces on the shoulders. Two
spaniels followed at his heels, and his henchman, an
old man who had been in the employ of the family
all his life, closed the procession. My friend's hair
was silvering, as you could see between the upturned
collar and the brim of the dove-coloured hat ; and for
that reason he seemed, to my boyish eyes, an old
man. Nevertheless I had some difficulty in keeping
up with him, especially when, not having mittens on
as he had, I put my hands in my pockets to protect
them from the biting cold. Yet how slight must
have been my discomfort compared to the distress of

ON THE WAV 103

the birds — fieldfares, thrushes, whinnards, blackbirds,
starlings and missel-thrushes — which were flying
hither and thither in the vain search for food.
Though no doubt I thought how easily they might
be trapped, I was sorry for the smaller birds, wrens
and tomtits, that threaded the hedgerow near the
farmhouse, and for the robin, puffed out with cold,
perched on one leg on the sill of the dairy window.
A little farther on, where the footpath crosses the
brook near its junction with the Lezingey stream, a
snipe rose from some rushes ; and farther on again,
near some furze-bushes, were tracks of at least one
rabbit. But we left them all behind us. The
shooting-ground we were making for lay on the
southern edge of the " High Country," and though
our shortest way would have been along the " Watery
Lane," as it used to be called, and up Hendra
Bottoms, we rose the steep hill leading to Boswednan.
By this more roundabout course, we should avoid
the drifts through which a farmhand, who had
brought tidings of the woodcock, had been obliged
to force his way.

From the high ground above the hamlet,
where we halted a moment to take breath, we
overlooked a scene which resembled a rude cast

in white of the familiar countryside. Many land-

2 B

194 REMINISCENCES OF BOYHOOD'S DAYS

marks were disguised beyond recognition, and the
waters of Mount's Bay, generally like a liquid gem
of the deepest blue, looked dull as lead. The newly-
risen sun loomed big through the frost-fog which its
rays could not penetrate, and a man with weak eyes
might have stared at the dull crimson orb without
blinking. In the hollow immediately below us, an
old labourer, with a big faggot of furze on his back,
was staggering across a yard, his feet sinking at
every step deeper and deeper into the snow, as he
made for the closed door of the farmhouse against
which it had drifted. It must be admitted that the
snowfall, heavy as it was, could not be compared to
the great blizzard of later years, which blocked the
railway, isolated the dwellers in the country, and but
for his knowledge of the position of a starveling tree
on the edge of a quarry, would probably have cost
the Earthstopper his life. Nevertheless, wildfowl
were quite as abundant ; and as the Looe Pool,
Marazion Marsh, and other resorts became frozen
over, they had to shift their quarters, and ultimately
to settle on the sea.

More than one skein of duck had passed high
overhead since daybreak, flying westward, but none
so big as the great flock of widgeon which we saw,
some four gunshots above us, as we were turning

o

S

SNIPE AND WOODCOCK 195

into the marshy moor near Tremayne plantation,
where our sport was to begin. This piece of un-
drained ground was, may be is, shaped like a triangle.
Tussocks of rushes just showed above the snow,
and a runnel, winding in and out among them, ran
chattering between a double frill of ice. We had
not advanced many steps before a snipe rose, to fall
to the first barrel, and soon after a wisp got up out
of range, and flew away in the direction of the Big
Downs. Following the running water, we ap-
proached the corner, where rushes gave place to a
brambly thicket, between which and the stone walls
behind grew a few gnarled holly-bushes. The
spaniels were hardly in this cover before they flushed
a woodcock. Bang ! bang ! and the bird fell on our
side of the wall. The smoke had not cleared when
another rose from the other side, where a few withes
skirted the runnel. It afforded the easiest of shots ;
but, alas ! both barrels were empty, and the reloading
of a muzzle-loader takes time. We crouched, hoping
the bird might settle in an adjoining marsh, but it
kept on in the direction of Trannack Hill till it be-
came a mere speck in the leaden sky, and at last was
lost to view.

Separated from the three-cornered moor by two
or three rough fields is a stennack — an excavation

196 REMINISCENCES OF BOYHOOD'S DAYS

made by the " old men " in mining for tin — in length
a good stone's throw, and some thirty yards across.
The bed of it lies from twelve to twenty feet below
the level of the field that circles it, so that the biting
wind swept over the white coverlet that concealed the
close thicket of furze, blackthorn, and bramble that
grew there. Standing on the edge of the bank, we
could follow the movements of the dogs by the snow
which fell here and there from the bushes. Presently
a woodcock rose silently a few yards in front of them
on the far side, and fell to the shot, dropping behind
a thorn-bush on the opposite bank. Shortly after,
another got up but was missed, and then for a time
there was a lull in the sport. Not that the excite-
ment flagged, for the spaniels were giving tongue,
and as they drew near the zigzagging bank on which
we stood a rabbit bolted on our right ; then, strange
to say, a fox made off, stealing away with that lissom
movement that only a wild creature is endowed
with, his ruddy coat showing finely against the
white background. Near the farther end of the
stennack three teal were flushed. They were up
and away in no time, affording a pretty right and
left. Two dropped in the thicket, and it was some
time before we succeeded in finding them. It may
seem hard to understand that the stennack was a

THE FARMHOUSE 197

haunt for wildfowl, but so it was. There was no
pool of water there, no spring, as far as I could see ;
and a small cave at the foot of the high bank was
dry, for, boylike, I peeped in over the drift that half-
filled its mouth.

Leaving the field, we made for Trevean farm-
house. The snow in the unfrequented lane that
we followed was unmarked by any footprint
except the track of a hare. Soon we could smell
the reek of burning furze, and as we came in
sight of the high stone chimney, we heard the moo-
ing of the cattle that had been driven in from the
wild moors around. Two colts, with rugged coats
and steaming nostrils, whose heads projected over
the half-door of the stable, welcomed us with a neigh,
as we crossed the rickyard and entered the house.
A fire blazed on the hearth ; but of the interior I can
recall clearly but one object, an old woman wearing
a small red shawl, seated in a high-backed chair at
the end of the table, with a big book open before
her. It was the indescribable calm on her face that
I shall never forget. That is what I see first as the
scene passes before my eyes, then the muslin cap she
wore, and last, though its hue was so bright, her red
turnover. A sheep-dog was stretched at full length
on the stone floor, his nose, that lay between his tan-

198 REMINISCENCES OF BOYHOOD'S DAYS

coloured paws, nearly touching the little wooden
footstool on which the aged woman's feet rested ; but
this part of the picture is faded. My friend chatted
with her so long about some great frost of years
before that I thought he must have forgotten all
about the woodcock. At length we left the farm
kitchen and set out for the wild waste-land, the
farmer going with us. The good sport we subse-
quently met with in Billy Hal's moor tempts me to
tell the reader at once what happened there, but I
will first touch briefly on the most striking incidents
in the wide round we took over the country on the
hither side of it.

Scarcely a croft but held its woodcock : hardly
a runnel from which a snipe did not rise. In
the bottom under Penhale fox-brake, a woodcock
rose out of some brambles growing inside the
ruined walls of a roofless cottage, and a little further
down, where a leat runs into the New Bridge
stream — that looked amid the snow like a black
ribbon lying on a bed of goose-down — a mallard was
shot, and a startled heron was allowed to flap itself
away unmolested. Shortly after this, the sun for a
brief space broke through the clouds and turned
the dull white scene into a glittering fairyland.
Near Boswortha Cairn — oh, how piercing was the

BILLY HAL'S MOOR 199

icy wind there — both barrels were discharged at a
passing flock of golden plover, and on the far side
of the rocks the farmer, humouring my curiosity, led
me to see a set of badgers' earths. Three of the
holes were blocked, and not a track was to be seen in
front of the one that remained open. As we hurried
to rejoin our little party, the farmer dropped up to
his ears in a pit, his black beard lying flat on the
snow. His hearty laugh rang out ; but my friend,
who was some thirty yards below us, did not turn
his head — in fact, did not, as he afterwards said, hear
any sound. I mention this to show how strong the
wind was, though another fact probably contributed
to the result — my friend and his old henchman were
approaching Billy Hal's moor.

Waste land it is, as its name indicates, but in
luxuriance of growth it is an oasis amidst the
barren hills that screen it from unkind winds.
In the spring, its bushes are the first of that
wild and unprofitable countryside to spread a
wealth of golden blossom ; in the autumn, the black-
berry-picker crowns her basket with big purple
berries from the bushes beside the rushy brook there.
Later, when the sloes have shrivelled on the black-
thorns and the coralline hips of the dog-rose adorn the
leafless briers, the farm-boy, seeking strayed cattle,

200 REMINISCENCES OF BOYHOOD'S DAYS

flushes the first woodcock of the season and forth-
with sets a springe or two on the boggy margin of
the runnel under the thicket of black withes. From
then until February this moor holds more than its
share of the longbills, and when woodcock are plenti-
ful in other coverts, in Billy Hal's moor, to use the
country folks' term, they are "daggin." In the
middle rises a knoll, whence the eye may descry
the rude boundaries that enclose its, perhaps, four
customary acres.

My friend was pushing aside the snow-laden
furze towards this vantage-ground, and I followed
in his wake. When he had gained it, he raised the
hammers of the gun, and then lifted his hand as
a signal to the farmer to let loose the dogs. We
knew there were at least three woodcock in the
moor, for we had seen them drop there. Before you
could count ten, a woodcock rose with a great flap-
ing noise. Bang ! went the gun as the bird twisted
above the withes. Bang ! — down it dropped on the
snow a good forty yards away, between the moor
and a clump of gloomy pines for which it seemed to
be making. As I ran round to fetch it I heard
" mark cock " twice in succession, but no report
followed, and shortly after, "mark cock" from the
farmer, with the discharge of both barrels. The

HAL'S GHOST 201

going was very rough, but at length I reached
the brown bird lying in the snow beside the brook.
What a beauty it was ! To this day I cannot
handle a woodcock without admiring its rich plum-
age, nor for that matter, though I have taken hun-
dreds, take a trout off a hook without wondering at
its lovely colouring.

It need scarcely be said that the rest of the
moor was carefully beaten, but how many woodcock
were flushed I cannot remember, nor do I regret
it, for I fear the number might savour of exaggera-
tion. Only five were added to the bag. One shot
was a very long one, and the bird fell in the upper
corner of the moor, near the ruins of Billy Hal's
cottage.

How long it was since Hal squatted on the land
and hatched a title, I have not been able to trace,
nor the manner of his death, nor even where he lies
buried. The country-people venerate his memory,
partly because of his great skill in hiding smuggled
goods and outwitting the king's officers, partly
because of his markmanship with his blunderbuss.
Some crofters aver they have heard from their
fathers that there was a mystery about his end, and
that Hal was buried at dead of night in his own
land. However that may be, there he has at times

2 C

202 REMINISCENCES OF BOYHOOD'S DAYS

been seen on clear nights in winter, moving noise-
lessly about amongst the furze with a short heavy gun,
or sitting on the stones of his ruined hearth. It is
a great pity that the mantle of the famous ghost-
layer, Parson Polkinghorne, has not descended to
any of his successors. We have it on the best
authority that his exorcising formula, which began
with the words " Nommy, Dommy " (in nomine
Domini), never failed to lay the poor troubled spirits
of those less sceptical days.

The moor having been shot over, we made our
way to the house. It was now nearly three o'clock,
and I felt tired, though not too tired to eat. The
farmer's daughter had laid our luncheon in the
seldom-used parlour. There were sandwiches, mince-
pies, a basin of clotted cream, some whortleberry
jam, and a plate of sturmer pippins. These last were
grown in my friend's garden on espaliers, and he
could generally produce one or two even when the
next year's fruit reddened the quarrenden-tree in the
corner by the bee-skip. We stayed but a short
time, as I thought, over our lunch, for we needed day-
light to find our way down the bottoms, and snow
had begun to fall again. From between the half-
drawn curtains, where an ostrich egg hung, I had
seen the big flakes. So bidding adieu to the dear

THE OLD TINDER-BOX 203

old lady, we made our way down the hill, and at
length reached the clump of firs in the bottoms,
where my friend stayed to light his pipe. I should
not have mentioned so trifling an incident, had it
not been that he used the tinder-box for the purpose.
This was his almost invariable custom, except in
summer : then he preferred a burning-glass, especi-
ally when deep-sea fishing. With a twinkle in his
grey eyes the farmer remarked, " Like Mr George,
edna ? " and shortly after, at a spot where, as the
curve of the drift showed, was a gap, he left us and
was soon lost to sight in the blinding snow. We
had rather less than a mile to go before striking a
road, but our progress was poor, owing partly to the
drifts, partly to the rough ground that lay under
the even surface of the snow. A candle was burn-
ing in a window of Hendra farmhouse as we
passed the lower pond, and when we came in
sight of Boswednan lane we saw the lights —
the welcome lights — of a carriage that was await-
ing us at the foot of the hill. Of the drive home
I know nothing, as I slept soundly the whole
way.

Thus ended a day's sport which lives in my
memory when days since enjoyed on grouse-moors

204 REMINISCENCES OF BOYHOOD'S DAYS

and by woodland coverts have been well-nigh for-
gotten, big bags notwithstanding.

Since penning these lines, I have turned to my
friend's diary. These are his brief entries for the
two days : —

"25th December. — Heavy fall of snow. Sharp
frost. Bunches of duck and geese in the bay. Seine
shot at Mullion. Bonfire on Poldhu Cliff. Eleven
loads offish up by five o'clock next morning, when
I left Newlyn cellar."

" 26th December. — At Trewern, Trevean, Pen-
hale, Boswortha Cairn, Billy Hal's moor, with Jack.
9 woodcock ; 3 brace snipe, 2^- golden plover, i of
teal ; i big snipe, i mallard, i bittern. Wind keen
as a razor on Boswortha Cairn, very lew in Billy
Hal's moor, which was full of 'cock."

The old "Joe Manton," which I have taken out
of its case, is standing against my study-table, and
a beautiful weapon it is, albeit the barrels are a
trifle thin. Many days' use have worn them so ;
but as far as I have been able to look back through
the interesting diary there is only one entry with a
bigger bag, and that was in the very winter when
the scream of the iron horse silenced the coach-horn,
and gave such a shock to Penwith's customs. If
you ask of what year I have been writing, I will tell

SEINE SHOT ON CHRISTMAS DAY 205

you in our West-country way — by naming an un-
usual event — that it was the year when a pilchard
seine was shot on Christmas Day, and tucked in a
snowstorm under the cliffs, on which a beacon, to
spread the glad tidings, was lighted on a spot
whence wireless messages are now transmitted
across the seas.

CHAPTER XVI

BASS FISHING AT THE LAND'S END

Two fishermen strained at the creaking oars, and
held the boat in the tide-race close under the
Longships lighthouse, whilst I grasped the taut line,
at the end of which a sand-eel was spinning. We
could see the bass in their play break the surface
some twenty yards astern, and every instant I
expected that the bait would be seized. What
sport those big fish would have given in the strong
current ! But no, the bass refused to bite at the
silvery lure spinning under their very nose. We
changed the bait — tried pilchard, squid, ray's liver,
spider-crab ; we varied the length of the line, the
weight of the lead ; we trailed the bait along the
edge of the school ; in short, we did all we knew.
It was of no use. "They're not on the feed, sir,"
said old Matthey, after two hours of this exasperat-
ing work. There was no gainsaying this palpable

206

MY USUAL LUCK 207

truth, but in my own mind I set the fact down to
piscine cussedness. I had come to Sennen for my
holidays in order to try and kill a big bass, and it
seemed as if the bad luck that had dogged me
wherever I had gone in quest of this fish, pursued
me still. In West-country phrase, I appeared to be
ill- wished. It was on the top of the spring, and we
had fished with apparently every condition in our
favour except the clearness of the water. " What's
wanted," said Matthey's mate as we approached the
wooden slip, " is a bit of a tumble, to stir the bottom
and thicken the water."

As scarcely a breath of wind was blowing, and
the sky looked like brass, the prospect of rough
weather and clouded water seemed very remote.
Yet it turned out not to be so. Well may the
fishermen of Sennen Cove, who no longer have the
guardian spirit their forefathers had, to warn them,
watch the sky for premonitory token of storm.

About sundown, on Tuesday the I4th August,
a fortnight or so after the tantalising experience
related above, a weather-dog was seen near the
horizon, which made the older fishermen shake their
heads and caused them to be abroad before dawn.
Seeing that the glass had fallen to storm-level and
that the seabirds with wild cries were making for

208 BASS FISHING AT THE LAND'S END

the southern cliffs, the thirteen boats were brought
in from their moorings and everything made snug
just in time before the sea became too rough for any
craft in the cove to venture out, except the life-boat.
At daybreak on the Thursday the sands were
littered with seaweed ; in places the foam lay in
drifts like snow, and for miles inland the farmers
must have heard, in the lulls of the storm, the
waves thundering against the cliffs. It was not
until the morning of Saturday that fishing was
possible, even from the shore, and then only at
some risk, because of that treacherous run in the
water which from time to time costs the life of a
rock-fisher. I had little hope of success, for the
sea was now as thick as barm, yet I caught a grey
mullet of five pounds, and lost another owing
to the hook tearing its hold. After this, being wet
through with the spray, I made tracks for my cottage
on the brow of the cliff.

By Monday the sea had moderated enough to
allow us to get Matthey's boat afloat, and we
ventured out to our old fishing-ground near the
Longships and dropped the killick overboard. The
water was in perfect order, and one might compare
it to a river clearing after a spate. What sport !
I kept catching pollack and bream until I was tired

A DISASTER 209

of pulling them in ; but, alas ! the bass had shifted
their quarters, and although we visited their usual
haunts we failed to meet with them. The glass
continuing to rise, we ventured further along the
coast, and spent the rest of the week fishing the
three miles of water between the Land's End and
Porthgwarra. Excellent whiffing-ground this is
well known to be, and so it proved ; but unfortunately
the week's sport was marred by a disaster for which
I was entirely to blame. It was on the morning of
Thursday, just after the steamer the Lady of the
hies had passed on her way to Scilly. Up till then
we had had good sport with pollack, five of these
beautiful bronze-coloured fish lying in the basket
on the bottom-boards. Shortly after, when near
the Rundle Stone, I lost a heavy fish, and with it
the spinning-flight, through its boring down and
getting entangled in the weeds, as big pollack are
wont to do. Of course, I should have held on at
any cost and not given an inch of line ; and this
I determined to do with the next fish that should
lay hold of the new eel-tail that was soon trailing
in the wake of the boat. I was exchanging a
few words with old Matthey, who was holding the
sheet — we were sailing to and fro the great tidal
stream — when I got into a very heavy fish, to which

2 D

210 BASS FISHING AT THE LAND'S END

I held on like grim death. In less time than it takes
to tell, the line snapped and a bass which had leapt
clear of the water twenty yards astern fell back like
a bar of silver into the trough of a wave and dis-
appeared. What word or words escaped me on
witnessing the fish — it was uncommonly like a salmon
— with the broken trace hanging from its open jaws,
I do not remember. At such mortifying moments the
tongue is very apt to prove an unruly member, yet
old Matthey never opened his mouth. He was like
one struck dumb, but his face was as long as a
fiddle, and the gaff dropped from his fingers as
though it burned them.

With the loss of that fish I really began to
despair, and it would have been almost pardonable
if I had taken a trip to Camborne to consult the wise
man there about removing the spell which, all joking
apart, I began to fear hung over me. The follow-
ing week my chances of success were reduced to a
minimum, for the wind veered round, the water
close in shore became as smooth as it ever is at the
Land's End, and in a few days was as clear as
crystal. The resourceful Matthey recommended
me, under these almost hopeless conditions, to fish
from the small rocky headland that separates the
Sennen from the Gwenvor sands.

THE BLUE ATLANTIC 211

" The hotter et es the closer in they comes, and
et's the biggest baas as hugs the shore."

" When the corn is in the shock,
The fish is on the rock."

I suggested, quoting the Cornish proverb.

He smiled, and replied, "Well, et's meant for
pelchurs, but et's true enuf for salmin baas."

Somewhat cheered by the old fellow's words, I
set out after an early lunch for Roarer Point, as it
is called, taking my fishing-tackle with me. The
going was heavy, for the sand, beloved of the
launce, is loose ; moreover the sun beat down
mercilessly ; but there was some compensation in
the scene.

I do not believe the man lives who could
have been blind to the beauty of that sea. In an
old Eastern poem a Persian is represented as
beholding from the desert's edge a boundless plain
of turquoise. The Atlantic on which I looked
might have been such a plain, except for the way it
heaved ; but it was on the breaking wave that the
eye dwelt, and found relief from the glare of the
beach. How deliciously cool the ever- rising, ever-
breaking walls of translucent water looked in con-
trast with the glowing sands over which the air

212 BASS FISHING AT THE LAND'S END

shimmered and quivered. Overhead a gull floated
lazily, its snowy plumage showing finely against the
blue vault ; and just after I crossed the little stream
that trickles down from Vellandreath, a butterfly —
I believe it was a red admiral — greatly daring,
flitted seaward, and passed out of my sight.

At last I reached the little headland, scrambled
over the burning rocks, and gained its extreme
point. The water below me was some ten or
twelve feet deep, and being outside the line of the
breakers, its surface, except when a breath of wind
caught it, was without a ripple, and the eye could
search every foot of the bottom near the rocks, and
for some distance beyond. When I had baited the
hook, I threw the line into the water towards the
Gwenvor sands, where I could see the approach of
any bass that might be coasting towards Sennen
Cove, and it might be, watch it swallow the lure,
for—

" The pleasant'st angling, is to see the fish
Cut with his golden oars the silver stream,
And greedily devour the treacherous bait."

Besides the hand-line I had a rod with me, and
on this I had rigged a spinning-flight and launce,
intending, when the tide rose about a foot higher,
to make a few casts from the point.

THE TWO BASS 213

A seaweed, favourite food of the shy mullet,
grew on two big boulders that lay half-buried in
the white sand in the water below me. Though
semi-transparent it was clearly visible when the
rippled surface smoothed. Presently a small crab,
as if fearful of being seen, scuttled across the sandy
strait between the rocks where rested my tempting
bait of ray's liver.

My attention was chiefly occupied watching
the bait and the water between it and the shore
on which white-crested waves were breaking ; but
now and then I looked into a pool at my side.
Bright-coloured anemones starred its sides, deli-
catest seaweeds spread their fronds in the limpid
water, and a small fish called a pulcronack rested
motionless between two rosy lichen-like patches,
apparently intent on something, or as if it were
listening for the steps of the incoming tide.

A buzzing noise drew my eyes for a moment to a
green-backed fly that had discovered and settled on
the silvery eel, and when I looked at the sea again
two dark objects were coming towards me slowly,
as they followed the line of the broken water in
which they were now and again lost to sight.
Owing to the glare I could not at first make the
fish out distinctly, though they were swimming over

214 BASS FISHING AT THE LAND'S END

the whitest of sands ; but when they came within a
rod's length of the bait, I saw what monsters they
were, and instinctively uncoiled some slack line from
the wooden frame on which it was wound. The
bass, for such they were, were swimming about
midway between the surface and the bait, and
when a few yards from the luscious morsel, their
heads went down, and the next instant only inches
separated them from the liver. What exactly
happened at this critical moment is uncertain,
owing to a slight ripple that disturbed the surface.
I could see their blurred dark forms near the rocks,
and a slight twitching shook the line, which I held
loosely between my nervous fingers for fear of
alarming them. Tout vient, etc., I thought, expect-
ing to have the line wrenched through my hands,
both of which were ready to grip it as the fish
should rush seawards. However, it was not
destined that I should land a bass that afternoon,
for presently the stately fish moved off in the
direction of the point, the bigger one in front ; and a
more dignified procession of two a chagrined
spectator never beheld. I suppose their suspicion
had been aroused, though there was nothing to
suggest it, so deliberate were their movements.
This gave me time to grasp my rod and swing the

A TRYING EXPERIENCE 215

sand-eel for a cast before the leading fish showed
beyond a conical rock that momentarily hid him.
Crouching, lest he should catch sight of me, I
managed to drop the bait in front of and a little
beyond him, and, allowing it to sink, drew it rapidly
through the water so that it passed within a foot of
his nose. It would be difficult to imagine anything
more irresistible for a fish than that silvery bait, the
spin of which, though I ought not to say so, might
have satisfied a Thames trout ! Did the bass
make a rush at it ? No, it simply swerved a little,
and swam away in the most leisurely fashion, the
smaller fish following majestically in its wake.
They kept their distance as truly as two torpedo
boats, and moved as if directed by a single mind.
Let those who think that all sea-fish are easily
caught, try their skill and their patience at the
Land's End. I venture to say that, the grey
mullet and the Thames trout excepted, no fish is
more difficult to capture in clear water than the
bass, and that the salmon is a fool to it. To
recapitulate my attempts : I had failed in the strong
tidal current near the Longships and the Cowloe
rocks ; I had hooked and lost a monster in the
Vrose off Tol-Pedn-Penwith ; and my experience
when fishing from Roarer Point would have tried

216 BASS FISHING AT THE LAND'S END

the patience of that famous rock fisherman, St
Levan himself.

I was not, however, at the end of my resources,
for I could improve on the fineness of my tackle.
Hitherto I had used single salmon-gut. I now
resolved, though not without serious misgiving, to
substitute a sea-trout cast, and, as the next best
time to the grey of early dawn — an hour which has
no great charm for me — to fish under cover of
night.

The spot I chose was near where the small
stream from Vellandreath runs over the beach, in
which, except after heavy rains, it loses itself just
before reaching high-water mark. I was there an
hour before sundown. My hook baited with cuttle-
fish lay a yard or two beyond the broken water.
As the tide rose, I moved up the beach and pulled
the bait a little nearer in. There was no sign of
any fish, but I was hopeful of success when the
golden track across the ocean should disappear and
the light become sombre. At length the sun dipped
below the horizon, the fires it had awakened in the
windows of the cottages died away, and the curve of
sand lost its warm colouring. With the paling in
the west, first the evening star and then the others
appeared, the fishing-village twinkled with glow-

STRAY THOUGHTS 217

worm lights, and the Longships and the Seven
Stones' lightship exchanged their nightly greetings
across the submerged land of Lyonnesse. When
the bells of Sennen ceased ringing, there was
scarcely any sound save the murmur of the waves,
which broke in lines of phosphorescence on the long
strand. Now and then I pulled in my line to see
that the bait was free from seaweed ; at times I
followed a light out at sea, where some steamer
moved in the darkness. Thus the hours passed ;
and at eleven o'clock, despairing of success, I was
on the point of going to my lodging. It wanted
yet half an hour to high water, however, and I
resolved to stay on.

At irksome times like this one's thoughts are
apt to stray, and a straw may give them direction.
What may have suggested the train of thought,
unless it was the tinkle of the rivulet beside me, I
cannot say, but my mind reverted to the part the
sands of Whitsand Bay have played in history.
Here, three centuries ago, the Spaniard landed and
burnt the mill at Vellandreath ; here landed Perkin
Warbeck, on his ill-starred expedition ; here Stephen ;
here John, on his return from Ireland ; here Athel-
stan ; here, if tradition be true, those heathen hordes

whom King Arthur and his knights overthrew on

2 E

218 BASS FISHING AT THE LAND'S END

Vellandrucher moor ; here were drawn up the
galleys. . . .

My historical reverie was interrupted by a slight
tug at the line held loosely in my hand, a tug
followed by the drawing of the slack through my
fingers. A bass — it is his way — was running out to
sea with the bait in his mouth. At last ! I had
jumped to my feet on feeling the fish, and when the
loose line was used up, I suddenly raised the point
of the rod — a sixteen-foot salmon-rod — and drove
the hook home. What a rush the fish made ! I
put on every ounce of strain I dared, considering
the fineness of the cast, but it seemed to have little
or no effect on the fish, which kept going seawards.
I could tell its whereabouts during the first part of
the rush by the jet of phosphorescent water that
spurted from the line, but now I could see nothing
except the dark expanse with its silvery fringe. If the
tackle held, I knew the bass could count on nothing
in its favour ; for the moorings of the boat and of the
storepots were far outside the limit of my hundred
yards of line, and there was no wreckage now, the
fishermen having cleared it away for the sake of the
mullet and pilchard seines. To husband the line
left on the reel, I advanced as far as I dared into
the water, my feet sinking deep in the loose sand.

THE MUSIC OF THE REEL 219

I was rather at a loss to know how to act for the"
best ; whether to continue the steady strain to the
last, or give the fish the butt before the line was run
out. To stand there and be smashed would be
ignominious ; so, come what might, I determined to
take the offensive. Grasping the greenheart and the
line in both hands, I brought the point of the rod
back over my shoulder slowly, to avoid a jerk,
putting on all the strain I could. Either the fish
must yield or the tackle break. There was a violent
struggle, in which the top joint played an important
part, and then suddenly the tension relaxed, and I
feared — in fact, had little doubt — that the gut had
snapped, or possibly the hook torn away. Winding
up as quickly as possible, I had recovered some
twenty yards when, to my joy, the reel screamed
again. A second time I applied the butt, and then
kept working the fish in. Now he would swim to
my left, now to the right, but I could not see the
wave which I feel sure he was raising. With much
difficulty, for he fought all the way, I brought him
to within a few yards of the breakers. How he
struggled to maintain his ground there ! evidently
regarding the broken water as a zone of the greatest
danger. After a time I thought I might venture to
haul him in. But no, he would not consent to that.

220 BASS FISHING AT THE LAND^S END

Of his own free will he had for many summers
sought the shallows, even foraged amongst the
breakers ; but there was a good reason why he
should shun them now. Once I had him just
beyond the faintly gleaming arch of a wave, though
I could not distinguish the fish, but only the place
where he was struggling inside rings of incandescent
silver. At last his strength was spent, and I
succeeded in dragging him into the grip of a wave
which tumbled him half-way up the shelving beach.
With a great effort I extricated my legs from the
quicksand, and throwing my rod aside, rushed at the
fish as the backwash carried him down. I got a
hold of him, but lost it, the prickly dorsal fin
wounding my hand badly ; then the next wave, which
nearly swept me off my feet — in my desperation I
had followed the fish — washed him in, and though
half-blinded by the spray, I succeeded in rolling him
on to the dry sand.

I have killed many bass since, but none so heavy
— he weighed fifteen pounds four ounces — none
which made such a gallant fight. It is true that
they were landed under more cheerful conditions, for
it must be owned that that night's fishing on the
edge of the Atlantic was weird and lonely.

CHAPTER XVII

NED'S TALE OF THE BIRDS

IT was within a stone's throw of the sea at Lamorna,
that I sat and listened to Ned's " Tale of the Birds."

We had been fishing the trout-stream that empties
itself into the cove, and were resting on the boulders
near the bridge before turning homewards. Ned is
a good all-round sportsman, but his knowledge of
birds is remarkable, and the reason is not far to seek.
His father was a taxidermist who was regarded as
an authority on British birds by Rodd and by Gould.
For some twenty years Ned assisted him in his work ;
but his delight was, and is, to wander over the
country in search of sport and specimens. To this
is, perhaps, chiefly due the knowledge he possesses of
the avifauna of Cornwall.

To understand the birds of Cornwall, said he, you
must know that, besides those always with us, and
the migrants that reach us regularly in the spring

221

222 NED'S TALE OF THE BIRDS

and autumn, many kinds of wild-fowl visit us in
hard winters and remain whilst the frost lasts. This
corner of England, owing chiefly to the warm sea
about it, is milder than any other except the Scilly
Isles, and when birds are frozen out elsewhere,
they can pick up a living here. A good feeding-
ground is the Land's End district — what with its
beaches, its boggy ground and pools on the moors,
and above all the overgrown, marshy valleys, which
mostly run north and south, and are sheltered from
the bitter east winds. Birds of gay plumage have
been shot in these bottoms which you would expect
to meet with only in a tropical forest — such as the
hoopoe, the waxwing, the roller, the bee-eater, and
the golden oriole. Of the four hundred birds com-
prised in the avifauna of the British Isles two
hundred and ninety have been observed in Cornwall,
so you see that our bird-life is as rich as the fish-life
in the sea about the promontory, or the flora that
makes the face of the country so beautiful.

Now it's out of the question my attempting to
talk about nearly three hundred different kinds of
birds, so I'll pick out a few things that may interest
you. Look ! that's a starling on the cottage chimney,
and I'll begin with him. A few years ago you
might search West Cornwall over without seeing

STARLING AND JACKDAW 223

one — I mean in the month of August, though they
came in tens of thousands in the winter. I've seen
the osier beds along the Eastern Green and the
reeds at Marazion Marsh black with them ; and when
I was a boy I used to fire at passing flocks with a
bow and arrow, as with a great whirr of wings they
skimmed over the Well field on their way to
roost. I believe that starlings have regular lines of
flight, as they seldom failed to pass over that field
about sundown. To come to the point, no sooner
was winter over than they all went up-along ; but
now some remain all the year round, and breed.
The cause is to be found, I believe, in the enormous
increase of this bird.

Then the daws — I mean the jackdaws — are ever
so much more numerous than they used to be. In
my young days they were scarce, and I used to be let
down over the cliffs with a rope round me, to get
their eggs. Now you can see them everywhere,
about the old mine-ruins, about the farmhouses,
and even about the villages.

The green woodpecker is also more plentiful than
it used to be. Considering how bare of trees the
country is, this is perhaps more surprising than the
increase of the starling or the daw. It is true that
some new plantations, such as those at Tregavara and

224 NED'S TALE OF THE BIRDS

Bijowans, are growing up, and who can say but that
in time we shall have jays and nightingales, and
perhaps squirrels ?

The country-people say that the "tinner," that is
the " dishwasher " or water-wagtail, is scarcer than
it was before the blizzard, which must have caused
the death of tens of thousands of birds. They
call it the tinner, because it builds its nest in the
mouth of the old mine-shafts.

Now I'll tell you about the last Cornish choughs
I ever saw alive. It was away on the Rinsey Cliffs,
a lone place between Pra Sands and Porthleven ;
and of course I wanted to get them. I had a gun with
me — as indeed I always had, for there was no close
season in those days. The birds were on a splat of
fine turf near the edge of the cliff, and within gun-
shot of an old engine-house that lay beyond them.
There was no chance of my getting near enough to
these birds — shy as hawks through persecution — not
even by crawling ; for the surface was nearly as smooth
as a bowling-green, with only a patch of vernal squill
here and there. Lying in a dip of the ground, and
all hidden up to my eyes, I could see every move-
ment of the two birds — a cock and a hen they were —
and more, I could hear every note they uttered.
" Daw, daw," they kept calling, a kind of bleat, a

THE CORNISH CHOUGH 225

pitiful little cry I should call it ; and yet I wanted to
kill them both. Instead of getting closer to me, as I
hoped, they were, if anything, moving nearer to the
engine-house. Then, thinks I, why not get round
and come at them from behind the building. This
I set out to do, making a long circuit, and at last
the ruin lay between me and them. I reached it
without having seen the birds fly away, though I
could no longer hear them calling. All of a tremble
with excitement, and with the gun at full cock, I crept
through a hole in the wall, made my way round the
edge of the shaft, and peeped through a chink in the
wall opposite. No choughs could I see. They
were gone ; and I was disappointed, sir, I can tell
ee. I went to the edge of the cliff, and looked down.
Not a bird was to be seen ; nothing but a few shags
on the rocks in the white water. As I said, I never
saw a chough alive again. They were, I believe, the
last of their race. I t's a pity they're extinct. Hand-
some birds I call them, with their black glossy
plumage and vermilion bill and legs. I can hear
that "daw, daw" now as I sit here; plaintive it
was for a love- note.

I forgot to say that the magpie is more common
than it used to be, though the farm boys " strub "

every nest they can find. Interesting birds I call

2 F

226 NEKS TALE OF THE BIRDS

them, and a feature of the country, a homely feature,
like the pigeons I saw about the Abbey up in
London, only wilder.

Yes, a magpie on a wind-clipt thorn bush, a
yellow-hammer on a furze spray, gulls behind a
ploughshare, a cormorant on a rock in the green
water, and jackdaws about a broken mine-stack, are
pictures downright Cornish ; and they are always
with us.

Dear me, how everything comes back when you
begin to talk.

If anything would make me laugh again, it
would be what I once saw at Nancothan. I was
looking through a window of the farmhouse into
the orchard. Perhaps it was the peculiar behaviour
of a magpie that attracted my attention. There he
was with his neck drawn out and head thrown back,
making tremendous thrusts with his beak at some-
thing on the ground. After lunging two or three
times, he turned his head on one side and looked
at whatever lay there, first with one eye, then turn-
ing his head, with the other. It's a comical sight
is a magpie looking with one eye at anything.
Well then, he began to dig, dig again, and after a
final critical examination with each eye, flew up into
an apple-tree. I ran out to see what he had been

THE PEREGRINE FALCON 227

pecking at so vigorously. What do you think I
found ? why, a china nest-egg ! I see that it amuses
you, sir, as it used to amuse me. It's the funniest
thing in bird-life I ever saw.

There's more tragedy than comedy however
about bird-life. Many young birds are stolen from
the nests, to say nothing of finches, warblers, linnets,
and chats killed by hawks. Of course, all this is
part of the plan of nature, though to my thinking
there's a deal of cruelty in it. What crueller thing
can you imagine than a falcon cutting down a hern
winging home, say to Trevethoe Park, where they
breed, with food for its young ? I never saw this ;
but one day, when lying up in Bosigran Cliffs
watching for seals, I saw a fight between a pere-
grine and a raven, in which the raven got the worst
of it. The falcon wanted the whole cliff to itself,
and in the end he had his way, for the ravens for-
sook their nest.

A bird with a royal mien is a peregrine falcon,
an ornament to the wild cliffs where he breeds. I
have seen him soar till he looked like a speck in
the blue, but I have never seen him stoop.

Now and again I've had glimpses of what is most
beautiful in our bird-life — say of a kingfisher flying
low over pools left by the ebb, when the sun catches

228 NED'S TALE OF THE BIRDS

its breast and back feathers ; or what I once saw, and
only once, a hern in full breeding plumage standing
still as a statue in the shallows of a sparkling pool.
I remember how lovely he looked. It was on the
moor above Lanyon Quoit, when the early furze was
in bloom ; and both the hern and myself were after

the trout.

For gulls, you won't find a better place than
Newlyn harbour. I have shot the great black-
back there, and the little gull, a bird no bigger than
a turtle-dove ; and from the pier-head I shot a
" Bonaparte" gull, a bird that breeds in the Great
Salt Lakes of America. You may ask if it came
from there. I do not know, but I believe it did.
Governor Augustus Smith of Scilly once brought
my father an Esquimaux curlew. Where did that
little stranger come from, what frozen seas lit by
" Northern lights " had he flown over ?

I say, there are wonderful things in bird-life,
especially in their migratory movements. Take the
red-breasted flycatcher that once reached here from
the far East, or the snow-bunting whose home is
within the Arctic circle, and probably at the
Pole itself. But no, you will realise better if I
take a bird you are familiar with. Consider the
willow-wren or the golden-crest. One would say

SUNRISE IN MOUNTS BAY 229

that either of them is incapable of long flights. Yet
these little creatures, whose weight you can hardly
feel in your hand, cross hundreds of miles of sea
without putting their foot down, except, it may be,
on a passing ship's rigging. It's not only the
distance covered that's so astonishing ; what guides
them in their long journey under the stars ? Man
navigates the ocean with the help of a compass, but
how do the myriads of migrating birds find their
way? I've puzzled my head many times to solve
the problem, but I admit I'm beaten ; unless they
possess a sense of direction such as cats and dogs
undoubtedly have, and which even the savage in the
pathless forest is said to have developed.

The 8th of May and the i ith of October or there-
abouts are the times of arrival in West Cornwall,
and many's the time I've watched the sun rise over
Mount's Bay on those days. What pictures I've seen
there ! The east afire, the west aglow with rosy light,
beyond the belt of furrowy sand the blushing sea,
and on the edge of it the little strangers wading and
feeding. The dates of their departure are just as
definite ; and as the time for leaving our shores draws
near, the birds gather at certain rendezvous and dis-
play great uneasiness. I have heard my father say,
"The warblers will be off soon, Ned." He used to

230 NED'S TALE OF THE BIRDS

feed the birds in our aviary over the porch as regular
as clockwork every morning, and he would notice
how restless they were, even throwing themselves
against the bars of the cage whilst instinct stirred
them.

I don't believe any man ever understood birds
better than my father ; he was that observant, and
could imitate their cries so exactly, all but talk with
them, in fact. Mr Gould, when he visited Cornwall,
always came to see him, and used to hang on his
words, so to speak ; and that was no mean compli-
ment. But there, sir, you'll think me prejudiced.

Talking of my father brings to mind an incident
I will tell you. My father was very fond of wander-
ing about Morvah and Zennor, when he could spare
the time. You know what a lot of waste land there
is in those parishes. Scattered over the downs
there are some lonely pools frequented by birds, and
in one of them I shot the only phalarope I ever
saw alive. Well, my father was stealthily approach-
ing rather a big pool when, to his annoyance, he saw
a boy driving away some cattle that had been drink-
ing there. Luckily he did not pass it by, for there
on the bank, away from where the bullocks had
been drinking, was a little bird that until then had
never been observed in England. It was a buff-

SMALL WADING BIRDS 231

breasted sandpiper, and I could tell by his face when
he returned home that he had shot something very
rare. Whilst I was examining the bird by the lamp-
light, my father took up the Western Morning News ;
and when I asked him where I should put the bird for
the night, he made no answer. Tired as I knew he
was, I thought this strange, because he was such a
a genial man. The bad news he had seen in the
paper had upset him ; that was it. The French had
had lost a great battle, I think it was called Sedan.
My father was very fond of the French. After
Colenso, and in the same week too with Magers-
fontein and Stromberg, I thought of this incident,
and I understood what my father had felt. Around
our fires the men were so quiet that the camp might
have been asleep. It would seem that such times
are for thinking, not for question and answer. For-
give me, sir, for getting so down in the dumps.

My happiest days after birds were spent on the
Eastern Green and around Marazion Marsh. I
have always been fond of small wading birds, such
as sanderlings, dunlins, stint, and turnstones. Shy
and wild they are, and elegant they look, running
about on the edge of the tide, following the ebb or
advancing before the flow. Days and days I've
watched them and returned home without firing a

232 NED'S TALE OF THE BIRDS

shot, but I've killed yellow-shank, dotterel, Kentish
plover, and pygmy curlew there ; and once I found,
after a heavy gale, a stormy petrel washed up on the
beach.

And now, perhaps I have said enough for you
to understand why this little tongue of land, whose
tip is the Land's End, has got such a hold upon
me. On the greyest day the moors are not dismal
to me, nor the shores melancholy. There's hardly
a square mile out of the hundred that isn't full of
associations. The cliffs, the wastes of furze and
heather, the tangled bottoms, the open beaches and
the little coves, are all rich in pleasant memories ;
and the whistle of the curlew, the croak of raven or
hern, the scream of sea-fowl, the piping of small
wading birds and the song of the sedge-warbler
are to me the music of familiar voices. Rolling
veldt, mountain range and river don't appeal to me
like the downs, hills, and streams that I've got to
know by heart.

"A treeless, barren waste" a man once called
the Land's End district to my poor father, who
preferred the scent of its furze to the perfume of
roses and the bell-heather before hothouse flowers.
Everything wild he liked, ay, loved ; the sea-pinks,
the golden samphire, the sea-holly, the ferns in

THE LAND'S END.

[Face page 282.

LOVE OF NATURE 233

the zawns, the seaweed in the pools, the shells
on the beach. And when he was unable to move
out of the house — he lived to eighty-two — he used
to sit up in the little bay-window, where he could
see the sun set, and watch for my return, and then
he'd ask what birds I'd seen, and about the flowers.
The speedwell, the scarlet pimpernel, and the forget-
me-not were especial favourites of his, and I'd always
bring home one or the other in my fishing-basket.
Touching it was to see him look at them.

If ever a man loved nature with his whole soul,
my father did, but above everything he loved the
birds.

But come ! we must be moving. I see the gulls
are winging home.

GLOSSARY

Account, a meeting of mine-adven-
turers.

Bal, a mine.

Bret (brave), very, much.

Brandts, an iron tripod which
stands amongst the embers of
turf or furze for resting a crock
or kettle on.

Chucklehead, a booby.

Churchtown (pronounced ch'town),
a hamlet or village near a church ;
used also of a town, and even of
a city, as " Lunnon ch'town."

Cleeves, ledges and clefts in the
face of a cliff.

Croust, refreshment of cakes and
cider in harvest time ; refresh-
ment generally.

Crow, a sty, a hovel.

Custna, couldst thou not ?

Daggirt, very numerous, in clusters.

Edna, is it not ?

Flambustered, excited, agitated.

235

Fogau, an inland cave.
Fuggan, a cake or pasty.

Gurgoes, the ruins of ancient fences
found on waste land.

Hepping or hipping stock, a stand
of three or four steps for more
easily mounting a horse.

High by day, high day, broad day-
light.

Kingcrowner, the name given to
the purple emperor, peacock or
admiral butterflies.

Launce, sand-eel.
Leel, little.

Mazed, greatly bewildered.
Mizy-mazy, confused.
Mowhay, rickyard.

Niddick or nuddick, nape of the
neck.

Pelchurs, pilchards.

Planchen, a plank, a wood floor.

236

GLOSSARY

Pore, state of agitation. [fish.

Pulcronack a small gudgeon-like

Quilkan, a frog.

Radgell, a pile of loose rocks.
Riffle, a break in a roof made by a

strong wind carrying away slates

or thatch.

Spens, a store cupboard frequently
under the stairs.

Stennack (stannum, tin), an excava-
tion made by the old miners.

Strub, to rob.

Tedn, 'tis not.

Ticketing days, the days on which
the tin-ore is sold by ticket at
Redruth. [passion.

To be vexed as fire, to be in a great

To think slight of, to have a low

opinion of.
To tuck a seine, to remove the

fish with a tuck-net.
Tubbal, a farm implement for

breaking up ground.

Up-along, may mean up the road
or to some part of England out-
side Cornwall, e.g., "He's gone
up-along, and some do say, to
Lunnon ch'town."

Wheal, a mine.

Whinnard, the redwing.

Wisht, like a person ill-wished ;

melancholy, dismal, sad.
Wusta, wilt thou ?

Zawn, a cavern in a cliff.

Dommage feasance, mischief done.
Male pardus, wretched ones (poor
miserable cubs ? )

Har andtue (har = halloo), cry and

kill. [a fig.

Gives the fco (figo], does not care

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