Almost every yard of the isles has its own tale of wreck; and in spite of the lighthouses (the Bishop, the Round Island, St. Agnes, and St.

Mary's) navigators have still a lively dread of the Scillies, especially in times of fog. Two lifeboats are maintained here, manned by a dauntless crew; but it is very rarely that they can be of any use; the area to be covered is far too large. The story of the wrecks has been admirably told in the _Homeland Handbook_ to the Scillies, a little work that also contains much excellent detail about their natural history. There is one thing that the tale of wrecks should strongly impress on the visitor. Unless he knows the locality perfectly, even a skilled boatman should be wary of rowing or sailing in and out among the isles, or of navigating around them. They are a network of sunken crags, reefs, and currents; even in calm weather there is usually more swell than appears, and the smoothest-looking water may be racing with deadly velocity. The force of an immense ocean is behind these waves. The Scillonians themselves are wonderful sailors and pilots; under their guidance and in fitting seasons most of the outlying rocks can safely be visited. Perhaps the best view of the entire archipelago may be gained from the summit of Menavawr (the "great rock"), though its position is by no means central; its height is about 147 feet. It is a grand spot for seabirds--razor-bills, puffins, guillemots, s.h.a.gs, and gulls. Annet, one of the largest of the uninhabited isles, is positively honeycombed with birds' nests, and at times it is ablaze with colour of the sea-pink and thrift. At Rosevear gulls chiefly predominate, and at Rosevean the cormorants; Gorregan is perhaps the best spot for seeing kittiwakes, while s.h.a.gs often colonise numerously at Maledgan. In the clear water below these crags fish are so plentiful that whoever takes the trouble to cast is likely to reap a rich reward.

But he who would fall in love with the Scillies before seeing them had better read the first half of Besant's _Armorel of Lyonesse_. The novelist was at his best when he wrote these pages. There is also good literary use of the islands in Mr. Mason's _Watchers_. It is possible that the first arrival will disappoint; it should not be expected that Scilly can compare with the magnificent coast scenery of the mainland, or with the verdant luxuriance of richer soils. But the spot has its own special charm of effect and atmosphere, which it may not surrender at once to its casual guest. The visitor must wait till he has seen it in ruddy dawns and purple or golden sunsets, under chequered skies, or wreathed in mysteries of sea-fog. He may then come to believe that when saints of old legend touched on Islands of the Blest, situate somewhere westward of Europe, they may really have simply drifted on Scilly, and have found its loveliness like that of the "island-valley of Avilion." Some small concession must be made to actuality. Large portions of the isles are treeless down, salt-marshes, sand-hills; we must not look for the wondrous native vegetation of an English country-side. Sub-tropic plants cannot wholly compensate for such a lack. But if trees are scarce, plants like the fuchsia grow to tree-like luxuriance; there is a rich abundance of ferns, while both the land and the marine flora are very rich. There is much to come for, and those who come must be willing to brave a pa.s.sage that may be exceedingly unpleasant. When Dr. Benson, then Bishop of Truro, and afterwards Archbishop, paid his single visit to the Scillies, his episcopal dignity was entirely overwhelmed by the direst woes of sea-sickness. On landing, he is reported to have said that before he started he feared he would be drowned; when half-way across he prayed that he might be; and now his one thought was how in the world should he get back again.

CHAPTER XI

FROM LAND'S END TO ZENNOR

The western promontory of granite to which we give the name of Land's End is not the grandest piece of coast in these parts; but it has the prestige of a deep sentiment attaching to it, and there is no other spot in England that draws visitors with such a powerful attraction.

In one sense the Scillies are the true Land's End, beyond which the deeper gulfs of ocean lie; and, again, there is another land's end at the Lizard, the southernmost point of England, and yet another at Lowestoft, the most easterly. But Lowestoft looks towards the Teutonic Continent, and the Lizard towards what we may call the Latin; both remain European in their outlook. Land's End has a different att.i.tude; it looks westward, and the migratory instinct of European races has ever taken them towards the West. It is the _Bolerion_ of Ptolemy, the _Bolerium_ of Roman writers, the _Penwith_ of the Celts. Adding a Saxon affix, Simeon of Durham named it _Penwithsteort_, the "tail of Penwith." There is some doubt about the true meaning of Penwith; Mr.

Baring-Gould gives it as "headland of blood," which it might well be as the last battle-ground of a defeated people; another interpretation says the "wooded headland." To speak of it as wooded now seems inappropriate, though we cannot forget the submerged trees of Mount's Bay, nor can we say what might have been beyond when the point reached farther westward. But it is as the last land in England that we cross this windy moorland to reach the sea; and beyond, visible on days of rare clearness, lie the Fortunate Isles of our dreams. Many a pilgrimage is made through the length of Cornwall for this sole purpose--to stand here at the dividing point of two channels, the meeting of two seas, the t.i.tanic outermost gateway that confronts the fury or the rough sport of the ocean G.o.ds. The visitors come by car-loads from Penzance or from St. Ives; not only during the summer season but throughout the year--there are always some who wish to see Land's End. They often bring the vaguest ideas of what the sight will be; our visions of Land's End before we see it are often dim, immense, mystical. Our dreams turn westward, to the land of the setting sun--to the great ocean of the unknown that hems us in, beyond which lie the promise, the golden hope, that have lured us onward from childhood, through disappointment and failure and the bitter sorrow of loss--

"Still nursing the unconquerable hope, Still clutching the inviolable shade."

And so we come to the land's end--the end that is also a beginning.

When Tennyson came hither he saw a funeral somewhere near, and he has the brief note, "Land's End and Life's End." The sun had just set in a great yellow flare. There is no spot where sunsets seem more pregnant of meaning than here, where winds are more haunted by crying ghosts, where there is a deeper significance in the "murmurs and scents of the infinite sea."

[Ill.u.s.tration: CAVERN AT LAND'S END.

_Photo by Gibson, Penzance._]

But we must come to Land's End in the right mood--with sentiment and inner vision, certainly, but without unrealisable expectations of a mighty gigantic headland, an abrupt tremendous precipice. We shall need the inner vision to contend with some jarring aspects of the reality, which are naturally more aggressive if we come during the holiday season. For the Land's End is a show-place, and we know what that entails. There is a large modern hotel here, just as we find similar edifices in some of the lovely solitudes of the Lizard and confronting the very castle of Arthur at Tintagel. Being there, we must take them philosophically--perhaps even make use of them. The cottage once boasting in the name of the "First and Last House in England" must now take a second place. There are some other aspects of even more definite vulgarisation--the presence of the tripper with his halfpenny newspaper, his bananas, and his mineral waters; there is also too much building here, and the prospect of more. Mr. W. H.

Hudson makes an appeal for a national fund that shall buy Land's End and sweep away much of this. He says: "The buildings which now deform the place, the unneeded hotels, with stables, shanties, zinc bungalows sprawling over the cliff, and the ugly big and little houses could be cleared away, leaving only the ancient village of Sennen, the old farmhouses, the coastguard and Trinity House stations, and the old fishing hamlet under the cliff." It is a dream that should not be impossible to realise. But the visitor who stays here after sundown, when the throng has departed, can to some extent realise it for himself. When the dusk of nightfall has veiled the defacements and deformities, he can stay on this ultimate headland alone with the immemorial rocks, the whispering wind, the brooding sea, greeted by the lights of the Wolf and the Longships, with a far twinkle from the Scillies. To the south the skies are searched by the great light of the Lizard. This, indeed, is a vision of peaceful intensity, but there are other times when there is no peace here--when winds buffet the barren downs and waves crash furiously on the caverned crags, when the sentinel rocks of the old country are a horror of wreck and death. Of such a scene it would be more easy to say too much than too little.

Even Ruskin, when he attempted to describe Land's End seas in his long convoluted sentences, failed to do anything but give a series of phrases and figures that the mind follows with weariness. Such things must be sketched vividly and briefly, or language only betrays its own limitations.

The rocks to which we immediately apply the name Land's End are only about 60 feet above sea-level; there are many higher, even in the near neighbourhood, and there are some more striking. Various fanciful, and for the most part foolish, names have been applied to them, which need not here be repeated. Both here and at the finer rock of Pordenack, a little southward, the rock-formations somewhat resemble those of the Giants' Causeway in appearance. But the n.o.blest cliff of all on this western promontory is that of Tolpedn-Penwith, to reach which we have to pa.s.s Nanjisal Cove. Its name, the "holed headland of Penwith,"

refers to a deep cleft or fissure, which can be explored from the sea when tide and weather permit. Part of this fine bluff is known as the Chair Ladder, and has traditions of a witch, Madge Figgy, who used to take flight with her comrades from this magnificent point, and here would shriek her incantations above the roar of wind and waters. The spot was certainly well chosen. There are some hidden crags, and some that are not hidden, lying off Land's End, such as the Armed Knight, the Irish Lady, and Enys Dodman, which is pierced by a grand natural arch. Rather more than a mile out is a cl.u.s.ter of islets, on one of which, Carn Bras, stands the Longships lighthouse, built in 1883 to replace one that had been privately erected; it has an occulting light of over seven hundred candle-power, visible at 16 miles. The lantern has sometimes been shattered by the force of the seas, and the tower rocks so violently that on one occasion one of the keepers went mad with terror and shot himself. When a boat had been signalled and managed to approach, the supposed corpse was slung down to it, and a fisherman accidentally touching the wound, the man revived. The Wolf light is about seven miles out, erected with immense labour and cost on a most perilous reef of rocks. Both lighthouses are often quite isolated by stress of weather.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SENNEN COVE.

_Photo by Gibson & Sons._]

Immediately north of Land's End is the truly charming little Sennen Cove, with its church-town nearly a mile inland. Formerly its beach was haunted by pixies and mermaids; now, in the summer, it becomes quite fashionable with the presence of those who are lucky enough to get lodgings. There is quite a compet.i.tion to obtain rooms at this quaint little fishing hamlet; those who love it best prefer it when it is left more completely to the gulls and the fisher-folk. Most of the fishing here is still done by the seine-net, and there is still "huing" from the cliffs to announce the arrival of the pilchards.

Sennen can boast a new breakwater, and every sc.r.a.p of harbourage is often badly needed. The church is dedicated to a saint who seems more real than some that we meet with in Cornwall. Senan or Sena.n.u.s was an Irishman who came here some time in the sixth century. It is related of him that one day his mother was changing houses, and the youthful saint declined to help her; she was angry and poured some water over him. Even a saint may dislike house-moving or spring-cleaning.

However, in this case the domestic articles very considerately moved of themselves. Another thing told of him is, that when being carried to burial he sat up on his bier and gave orders that his feast-day should be March the 8th, not the 1st. This foolish tale must have been invented later by some priest who wanted to change the festival. The church has a good tower built of ma.s.sive granite blocks, and there is a fine granite cross in the new churchyard. Within, there is a curious mutilated alabaster figure, apparently a Virgin and Child, and there is an old mural painting. At the rock known as the Table Men there is a tradition of a great battle between Arthur and some Danish invaders, and there is a conjecture of Danes having settled in this district.

The wizard Merlin is said to have foretold another landing of Nors.e.m.e.n here, to precede the end of the world; perhaps he meant the Germans.

In the past Sennen had a bad name for smuggling and piracy. Curving northward is the beautiful and partially sheltered Whitesand Bay, which has memories of some historic landings--Athelstan, Stephen, John, Perkin Warbeck; but the coast is very dangerous, and is rendered more so by off-lying rocks such as the Brisons. It is singular that Cornwall should begin and end with a Whitesand Bay. Inland rises the height of Chapel Carn Brea, which must be distinguished from the Carn Brea of Redruth; it reaches about 660 feet, but Bartinney, or Bartine, is still higher. Both are crowded with prehistoric remains, but Carn Brea is the more interesting in this respect, for its cairn, whose lower layer held the bones of some Stone Age chieftain, was crowned at the summit by a Christian oratory. It is a great pity that this chapel, probably one of the oldest religious structures in the kingdom, was not preserved. Above the Stone Age burial was a dolmen of the Bronze Age; and above this were layers that told of Romano-British civilisation. But the antiquities of this district really need a book to themselves. When we reach Cape Cornwall we are in the immediate neighbourhood of mining again, and the fine headland itself is crowned with an old mine-stack. Its formation gives Cape Cornwall the appearance of reaching even farther westward than Land's End, and the view from its summit is grandly impressive. This is the parish of St. Just-in-Penwith (so called to distinguish it from St.

Just-in-Roseland). Mr. Hind thinks St. Just the dreariest town in Cornwall, and its best friends do not call it lovely; but there is a rather interesting Perpendicular church, with some earlier relics, and there is also a _plan-an-guare_, like the Planguary of Redruth--an old-world amphitheatre, first used for sports and later for miracle-plays. The name means "place of play." It is now used for religious and other meetings. The moorland country here is barren and windswept, with disfigurations from mining; and the dismal summit of Cam Kenidzhek is haunted with queer traditions. This is the "carn of the howling wind" or the "hooting cairn," covered with traces of the immemorial past and feared in old days as a special domain of evil spirits. About a mile westward is the old Botallack mine, perhaps the most famous in all Cornwall, which reached to the sea and considerably beyond; it was long closed, and the decayed buildings had quite a romantic appearance on the wild, bare cliffs, but the revival of Cornish minings has brought a new activity. The old workings run for about a third of a mile below the sea, and it is said that the pitmen were often terrified by the roar of the waves above their heads, dashing the loose boulders of rock. But the great Levant mine, a little over a mile northward, runs for about a mile beneath the sea, being worked for tin, copper, and a.r.s.enic. Once, not many years since, the sea actually broke into its workings. This is mining, indeed, in all its grimmest reality, and the a.r.s.enic-working in particular has a bad effect on the miners. But it earns dividends. Pages might be written about the old miners' superst.i.tions, but even underground these things have died out; even the perils are now lessened by modern science. Yet at Wheal Owles, in 1892, eighteen men lost their lives through the flooding of the workings.

Just beyond Levant is Pendeen Village, with a new lighthouse on the coast. At Pendeen manor-house, now a farm, was born the eminent Cornish antiquary, Dr. Borlase, in 1695. For his age he was a tolerably enlightened archaeologist, and his works on local antiquities have supplied the basis of much subsequent writing; but of course they present pitfalls for the unwary. He was Vicar of Ludgvan for fifty years. The curious _fogou_ of Pendeen Vau was actually in the garden of his birthplace, so that he had an early stimulus to research.

Pendeen has now its own church, which is of remarkable interest although quite recent. In plan and exterior it is modelled on Iona Cathedral, and was built by the Cornish missioner, Robert Aitken, who influenced his people so powerfully that the granite was both given and wrought free of cost. A castellated wall with a fine arched gateway surrounds the building, which proves that under the right impulse the people may still become church-builders--and will still attend church. Eastward of Pendeen is the church town of Morvah. This tract of coast from Land's End to St. Ives has perhaps been neglected by visitors and writers, only one spot, and that not the finest, Gurnard's Head, being really familiar. The stony barrenness of the inland country is compensated by a real grandeur of coast-line, invisible from the road and therefore often left unexplored. Morvah has traditions of mermaids, with some idea that its name may be a corruption of the Breton _morverch_; but we must probably seek some other derivation. Tonkin says the name simply means _locus maritimus_.

Stories of mermaids are common enough, or rather were so, along this north sh.o.r.e, doubtless explained by the seals that were once frequent, and would be still if not shot off by the usual insensate "man with a gun." The small church is Perpendicular, with a pinnacled tower. In this parish is the magnificent Chun or Chywoon castle, on a hill about 700 feet high. This western extremity of Cornwall was guarded by a line of hill forts, of which this Chun, if not the most powerful, remains in best preservation. We cannot speak with decision as to the date of their earliest use, but this stronghold of Chun was almost certainly utilised as late as the fifth or sixth centuries, and may have seen fighting during the days when Irish invaders, even if they came as travelling saints, were not always welcomed. The first and second vallum can be traced with their ditches, and there was doubtless an inner wall. The masonry is of different character from that cyclopean piling of boulders which was all the earlier men had known of building. Of such cyclopean style, though it is a small specimen, is the Chun cromlech, standing near. In the near neighbourhood are the _Men Scryfa_ (the inscribed stone), the _Men-an-tol_ (the holed stone), the Nine Maidens, the Lanyon Quoit,[A]

the huts of Bosporthennis, the Mulfra Quoit--all being monoliths, or other survivals of wonderful interest, with the strange fascination of their mystery. Cairns, barrows, sepulchral monuments, we can understand, for death and burial are ever with us; but what was the meaning of these circles and standing-stones--who built them, and for what purpose? They are interpreted astronomically now--the latest, perhaps the correct, theory. The earliest peoples who brought any culture to these sh.o.r.es came from the East, and we cannot tell what profundities of astrologic science they carried with them. It is generally acknowledged that when the rough Teutons came they encountered and checked a mental culture higher than their own. But we can only conjecture dimly, and leave the controversialists to wrangle.

[A] See ill.u.s.tration, page 181.

On the moorland beyond Morvah rises the tor of Carn Galva, standing stern and solitary like a little patch of Dartmoor. On the coast is the grand sheer cliff of Bosigran, the western protection of Porthmeor Cove, with traces of prehistoric fortification; it is a n.o.ble bluff of granite, with a drop of 400 feet. Puffins nest in the crevices below.

A little westward are the pinnacled rocks of Rosemergy, covered with lichens and in parts clad in ivy; the neighbouring turfy slopes are fragrant with heather and gorse. Little streams filter their way from the moorland to the coves, reaching the sea through hollows rich with ferns--there are still rare ferns to be found in the more inaccessible shelters. Just beyond is another Treryn Dinas, like that of the Logan near St. Levan; but this Treen is better known as the Gurnard's Head.

It is a favourite show-place, winning perhaps more attention than it deserves in comparison with other places near it; but the rocky and turf-clad headland, with its traces of a far-distant past, is really very beautiful, reaching like a couchant beast into the waves that are sometimes of the purest blue, sometimes white with seething foam.

There was an old chapel on the neck of the promontory, and near are remains of some rude granite huts. The popularity of the place has brought a modern hotel.

[Ill.u.s.tration: GURNARD'S HEAD.

_Photo by Gibson & Sons._]

The cove of Porthglaze with its strange turret-like rocks, the coves of Pendour and Zennor--all these are beautiful, and cannot be seen from the road; the visitor must explore them by scrambling along the cliffs, crossing summits and gorges and gullies, not deterred by difficulties that to a careless or nervous climber might become dangers. Only so can this fine coast be fully known.

In its situation the village of Zennor is like some of the wild, stony parts of Ireland; but the cottages are too comfortable to be Irish.

Close to it stretches the stone-strewn moorland. Everywhere we have proof of the abundance of stone, the scarcity of wood; hedges are of rough boulders and pebbles; stiles are the charming Cornish "gridirons"; there is a stream crossed by rugged little stone bridges.

The church is of the thirteenth century, restored in 1890; of course there had been earlier restoration, for the tower is Perpendicular.

The dedication is to St. Sinara or Senar, a virgin probably of Irish origin; but we know nothing about her, and little of the early building itself, except that in 1270 the Bishop of Exeter granted it to his college at Gla.s.siney near Penryn, and the living seems to have been starved. Zennor, indeed, was formerly known as the place "where the cow ate the bell-rope," a sportive neighbourly reference to its poverty and infertility. But the most famous feature of the church is its carved mermaid. There are two good old bench-ends, now forming the sides of sedilia, and of these the mermaid is one, represented with comb, mirror, and fishy tail. The story tells that the men of Zennor were very fine singers in the old days, and one, a squire's son who sang in the choir, had so beautiful a voice that this mermaid came all the way up from the sea-beach to hear him, Sunday after Sunday.

How she did it is not explained; but at last her importunity prevailed, and the youth went away with her. She had lured him to the

"Sand-strewn caverns cool and deep Where the winds are all asleep; Where the spent lights quiver and gleam, Where the salt weed sways in the stream."

The dial on the tower also bears the figure of a mermaid. There must have been some origin for such a legend; perhaps some youth was drowned off the coast, and it was imagined that a mermaid had beguiled him away. The same sea-lady appears to have been heard of later, for it is said that "a long time after, a vessel lying in Pendour Cove cast her anchor, and in some way barred the access to a mermaid's dwelling. She rose up from the sea and politely asked the captain to remove it. He landed at Zennor, and related his adventure, and those who heard it agreed that this must have been the lady who decoyed away the poor young man." But why poor? The connection may have been a happy one; the mermaid was evidently courteous in manners, though her representation on the Zennor bench-end is not exactly beautiful.

Zennor Hill or Beacon rises to 750 feet in desolate grandeur, and on this high land, often haunted by foxes and badgers, is the great Zennor Quoit or cromlech, thought to be the finest in Britain. Its slab, 18 feet in length, has slipped from its rest. It is an immense t.i.tanic monument, whose story no one can tell us; yet in this district these things are common, and utterly disregarded by the countryfolk. They have forgotten even the tales of the giants who used to play "bob-b.u.t.tons" with them. He who wanders among these undated relics and wild stony moorlands may easily go astray; the cairns and tors are very like each other, and paths are few. Sometimes also there are blinding mists or fierce winds heavy with rain; at other times a glamour of loveliness steals over the desolate wastes, sunsets wrap them in atmospheric glory, or dreamy noons brood over them with deep calm. Between Zennor and St. Ives is the parish of Towednack, where they tried to build a hedge around the cuckoo. It is just a symbol of our craving to keep the springtime ever with us; the hedge was not high enough, and the cuckoo flew out at the top. The name of the hamlet was formerly Towynnok, which evidently embodies a dedication to St. Winnoc--probably the same saint as we find at Landewednack. The low, st.u.r.dy little tower has no pinnacles; when the folk were building it the devil came each night and pulled them down. But this parish does not touch the sea at all. Off the coast are the rocks known as the Carracks, beyond which we pa.s.s Penynys and Hor Point, and so reach the "Island" of St. Ives.

CHAPTER XII

ST. IVES

Some years since, when the average man spoke of Cornwall he was thinking of St. Ives--and perhaps of Tintagel. These were the two places whose names had taken the public imagination, the one being typical of the Duchy's romance, the other of her everyday life. But in those days love of the picturesque had not quite overcome a dislike of fishy and other smells. Walter White frankly told his readers not to disenchant themselves by going into St. Ives; he recommended admiring it from a distance. The town's name was familiar in popular songs, and it was known as a prosperous fishing-port. Then the artists arrived, and--perhaps more important still--a much improved railway service. At the present day the reputation of St. Ives is a.s.sured, yet it is certainly less popular as a holiday resort than some other places in Cornwall; those who come here usually prefer the suburban district of Carbis Bay. Newquay has attained an easy supremacy in popularity; Bude is following in its wake; while South Cornwall has Looe and Fowey, the Lizard, Penzance, with numerous small coast-side hamlets for the delight of quieter guests. But St. Ives maintains its position as a typically Cornish town; its past is thoroughly interesting, and its records ample; it is a striking and in some respects fascinating link between the bygone and the present. Old St. Ives seems to derive entirely from the little headland known as The Island. It was just one of those places that the ancients loved to fortify, almost insular and easily defensible. The dry-stone defence known as the Two Edges was probably constructed by men of the Stone Age; it is certainly pre-Celtic. Other strongholds of the same date may be found at Gurnard's Head, at Trencrom, and at Bosigran, to name only a few. The Island may have been really insular when first fortified. There are remains of an old chapel of St. Nicholas on the point of the headland, and it is difficult to say whether this must be a.s.sociated with the name of St. Ia; there is also an oratory of St. Leonard, known as "the Chapel," close to the stone pier. We may fairly conclude that both these are later than the cell of St. Ia, which was on the site of the present parish church. This saintly woman must on no account be connected with the dedications of the Cornish St. Ive (p.r.o.nounced Eve) near Liskeard, or the St. Ives of Huntingdonshire. She appears to have reached Cornwall late in the fifth century, coming in the company of the Irish prince, Fingar, who renounced his kingdom in order to preach Christianity. Fingar is claimed as a convert of St. Patrick. St. Ia is said to have floated to the Island, anciently named Pendinas, on a miraculous leaf, by which is clearly meant a coracle of the kind still to be seen in parts of Wales. Her comrades went on to evangelise other parts of Cornwall, but she remained here, living in a beehive-hut of the style called "Picts' houses," and doing her best to soften the faith and manners of the rude inhabitants. It is said that she was martyred by a local king or chieftain, Tewdrig, or Theodoric. She resided here long enough to impress her name permanently on the locality, whose earliest Latin name that we can trace was _Parochia Sancte Ye_, while the Cornish name was Porthia. The existing church stands on the site of an oratory which was either her own foundation or was erected soon after her death by loving disciples. Till 1409 St.

Ives, being only a small fishing hamlet, belonged ecclesiastically to Lelant; but at that date the people pet.i.tioned the Pope, through their lord of the manor, Champernowne, that they might have a separate church: "As it had pleased the Almighty G.o.d to increase the town inhabitants and to send down temporal blessings most plentifully among them, the people, to show their thankfulness for the same, did resolve to build a chapel in St. Ives, they having no house in the town wherein public prayers and Divine service was read, but were forced every Sunday and holy day to go to Lelant church, being three miles distant from St. Ives, to hear the same, and likewise to carry their children to Lelant to be baptized, their dead to be there buried, to go there to be married, and their women to be churched." In response to this appeal the Pope directed the Bishop of Exeter that the chapels both of St. Ives and Towednack should be made parochial, "with font and cemetery, but dependent on Lelant." The people set to work at once, bringing the necessary granite from Zennor by boat, roads being then quite unfit for transit of heavy burdens. Completed in 1426, the church consists of chancel, nave, and two aisles, with a tower 119 feet in height. The roofs are of decorated wagon-form, with figures of angels at the springings of the braces. The Trenwith aisle was added a little later. In the original church was an organ, very fine for those days; it was destroyed in 1648 by the Puritans. There are some very good bench-end carvings, not all in their original position, and there is a Trenwith bra.s.s with the figure of St. Michael ludicrously restored. Many other objects of interest may be noted, both within and without the church, including a fifteenth-century cross in the churchyard, thrown down by the Puritans and re-erected.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ST. IVES.

_Photo by Gibson & Sons._]

Historically, St. Ives has played no great part, but what may be called its domestic annals are singularly varied and full. The chief events that can be called historical are a landing of the French at Porthminster during the reign of Henry VI., and the anchoring of Perkin Warbeck in St. Ives Bay, in 1497, when he was proclaimed as Richard IV. St. Ives was also concerned in the Western Rebellion of 1549, when the Cornishmen rose on behalf of their ancient religion.

There was a question of language also, as well as of faith, as we may see from the articles of complaint:--

"We will not receyue the new Servyce, because it is but lyke a Christma.s.se game, but we wyll have our olde Servyce of Mattens, ma.s.se, evensong and procession in Latten as it was before. And so we the Cornyshe men, whereof certen of us understa'de no Englysh, utterly refuse this newe Englysh.... We wyll have holy bread and holy water made every Sundaye; Palmes and ashes at the times accustomed; Images to be set up again in every church, and all other aunceint olde Ceremonyes used heretofore by our Mother the Holy Church. Item we wyll have everye preacher in his sermon and every Pryest at his ma.s.se, praye specially by name for the soules in purgatory as owre forefathers dyd."

This rising, which began in Devonshire, rapidly spread throughout Cornwall; it was, indeed, the fiercest and most serious of all the risings against an enforced Reformation. It ended in disaster; many Cornishmen were killed either in the field or by hanging afterwards; among whom was John Payne, mayor or portreeve of St. Ives. Of the religious aspect of the quarrel nothing need be said; but it is certain that the compulsory introduction of the English Bible and Prayer Book proved the death-blow of the Cornish language. It did not die at once, but it speedily began to languish, and two centuries later was practically extinct. During the Civil War St. Ives sided with the Parliament, and its church, therefore, does not contain the letter of thanks from King Charles that is so commonly seen in Cornish churches. The little town was always strong in local patriotism, and st.u.r.dily nursed its own interests as a fishing port; yet a study of its Borough Accounts proves that it could be generous at times, and these accounts are such delightful reading that a few extracts must be quoted. They begin with the year 1573; the quaintness of diction and the "indifferent spelling" add piquancy and remoteness to some of the entries.

Many of these have to do with expenses towards the keep of foundlings, burying of the dead by the parish, and other charities; thus, a very few years from the commencement, we have:--

"Pd. Eliz: Rodger to keepe a base childe founde by the p'rishe and for half of a pecke of blye, XVIIId.

"Pd. Alce caraway who releeveth certaine children of the parishe, VId.