Chapter I: Part 1

STORIES AND FOLK-LORE
OF
WEST CORNWALL

BY
WILLIAM BOTTRELL.

“The proper study of mankind is man.”—Pope.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY MR. JOSEPH BLIGHT.

THIRD SERIES.

PENZANCE
PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR BY F. RODDA.
1880.

(Right of Translation reserved.)

PREFACE.

The publication of the present work has been attended by circumstances of pathetic interest. It is to be feared that it will be the last literary testament of its author, who, before the whole was completed, was stricken by a severe stroke of paralysis, which has incapacitated him from holding a pen in his hand. He must, therefore, claim the indulgence of the critics and the public in this third series of Cornish tales.

The whole subject of folk-lore, however, is at this moment of such general interest, that still it is hoped that this little addition to the stores now being gathered from every nation under heaven, may be acceptable to the literary world. The publication of Melusine, a periodical solely devoted to folk-lore subjects, at Paris, was followed in England by the formation of the Folk-lore Society in 1878, which promises to take an important position among the learned societies of the English nation, and whose publications have already reached the third volume. The valuable collections of this society have doubtless done much to systematize the work already done, and to encourage the labours of collectors of folk-lore throughout the world.

The poet truly says,—

“The proper study of mankind is man.”

and so the folk-lore student, in collecting the myths, the proverbs, the traditions, the customs of the peasants of many lands, is doing an important work in accumulating facts bearing on the history of mankind; not the mere records of the wars and doings of kings and generals, but of the beliefs, aspirations, thoughts and feelings of the working classes of various nations.

In this work the author has done some valuable service, and it is to be hoped that this addition to his former labours may be found of value, seeing that it deals not with the traditions of the peasantry of distant and foreign lands, but with the legends and traditions of the country folk of one of the most romantic and interesting counties of “Merrie England.”

CONTENTS.

PAGE
Legends of Ladock 1
The Prize Wrestler and Demon 3
The Feathered Fiend 12
The Ghosts of Kenegie 21
Laying Wild Harris’s Ghost 26
Cornish Castles 37
The Haunted Lawyer 39
Hallantide: or a St. Just Feast fifty years ago 48
Mill Stories 60
A Poor Tinner’s Feast 62
An old Droll about a Poor Tinner’s Feast 69
A Madron Feast of fifty years ago 73
Zennor Hearthside Stories 80
The Seaman’s Ghost 84
The Old Woman’s Ghost 88
The Mutton Feast of St. Ives 89
The Witch of Kerrow 91
Fairies on the Eastern Green 92
The last Threatened Invasion: Commotion and False Alarm
in the West 95
Mal Treloare and Sandry Kemp kiss and become good friends
again: or Backbiting Crull outwitted 97
The Three Geese 100
The Earl of Stairs’ Son 105
From Penzance to Carn Galva: Noteworthy objects by the way 114
Madron 114
Madron Well 115
Madron Chapel 117
Lanyon Quoit 117
Lanyon Town Place and House 119
The Crick-stone 119
Men Scryfa 121
The Four Parishes 121
The Giant of Carn Galva 122
The Penzance of our Grandfathers 126
The Old Market-House and its surroundings 126
The Battle of Architectural Styles 128
The Self-taught Architect 128
The Bustle of a Market Day 129
Madam Trezillian’s Head-Dress 130
The Ancient Fish-Women of Penzance 131
The School-days and Home of Pellew 131
The Western approach to Penzance 133
Parson Spry and his Wooden Horse and Dog “Sport” 133
The Rev. James Bevan 137
Country Clerks and Country Choirs 138
Old Christmas Carols 138
Ancient mode of conducting Funerals 139
Former means of information among the people 140
The Astrologers of the West 141
Conjurors and their Spells 142
Old Justice Jones 143
The Vingoes of Treville 143
Pellew and his Cornish crew 144
Ancient Games 144
Old methods of Conveyance—Riding Pillion 145
Popular Songs of the times, Marlbrook, and Sentimental
Ditties 145
Green Lanes and Footpaths 148
Pack-Saddles, &c. 148
Going to Town on Market-day 149
Early part of this Century 150
An old-fashioned greeting 151
The Ghosts of Chapel-street and St. Mary’s Chapel-yard 152
Local Nicknames 155
Merry-geeks and Market-Jew Crows 155
Ludgvan Hurlers and Gulval Bulls 155
Moushal Cut-throats and Newlyn Buckas 156
Sancras Pigs and Buryan Boars 156
St. Levan Witches, &c. 157
Santust Fuggans and Morvah Chick-chacks 158
Nancledrea Rats and Zennor Goats 158
Towednack Cuckoos and St. Ives Hakes 159
A Cornish Droll: Betty Toddy and her Gown 161
The Ghost-layer 171
Cornish Dialogue between two old men 173
A Dialogue between Gracey Penrose and Mally Trevisky 175
Christmas Carols 177
Ancient Midsummer Customs 179
The “Hilla” 181
The Ancient Cornish Language in the Colonies 183
According how et may drop 184
Cornish words in use 185
Cornish observances with regard to the Sun and Moon 187
Cornish Conjurors’ Charms against Witchcraft 190
All on one side, like Smoothy’s wedding 192
Piskies 193
Old Cornish Words 195
Glossary of Local Words 197
Subscribers’ Names 199

LEGENDS OF LADOCK.

“A good man there was of religioun,
That was a poure persone of a toun:
But riche he was of holy thought and werk,
He was also a lerned man—a clerk.

And though he holy were and vertuous,
He was to sinful men not despitous,
Ne of his speche dangerous ne digne (proud),
But in his teching discrete and benigne.”

Chaucer.

A little more than a century ago the Rector of Ladock was the Rev. Mr. Wood, who was a most zealous churchman even in the days of misty prejudice, when churchmen in general looked upon nonconformists as scabbed sheep in their fold, and held that no schismatics were to be tolerated. From having unwavering faith in the grace conferred by his ordination, he was endowed with remarkable powers as an exorcist and ghost-layer. The reverend gentleman was also an adept in astrology and other occult sciences, which enabled him to perform wonders. The simple folk of that secluded place, believing that their good parson possessed more knowledge than is attributed to ordinary members of the three learned professions combined, sought his aid in their physical infirmities and social disturbances, as well as for their spiritual wants. These simple, honest people were not much troubled in regard to the latter. In those tranquil times they were comparatively temperate in religious matters. There were many traits in the secular side of Mr. Wood’s character for which he was much liked and respected. If any dispute arose between his parishioners the matter was referred to him; and, such was their confidence in the justice of his award, that they always abided by his decision. If they had difficulties in parish business the parson explained the law on the subject, and the matter was settled accordingly. With the youngsters, too, he was a great favourite. He encouraged them to keep up the old games of wrestling, hurling, and other manly sports. The silver hurling-ball was left in the parson’s care, and at the Tides, when he gave it to the young men, he would say to them, “Now, my boys, be on your honour with each other, and let it be your pride to behave according to the legend engraved on your ball, in old Cornish, which means, as you know, that ‘Fair Play is Good Play!’ Be sure, too, that One and All observe the ancient laws of your games, which I will explain to ye if there should be any uncertainty.” Mr. Wood mostly gratified the youngsters by being a spectator of their games, and, unless he appeared on the Green, some of them went to request his presence.

He would often say to the men, “A knowledge of the science of wrestling is as necessary as that of boxing to give one a ready means of self defence. Besides, it is a respectable exercise from its antiquity. Old chroniclers say that the hero Corineus (or Corin) with his Trojan hosts, by their faculty of wrestling subdued the Giants by whom this Western Land was possessed when he and Brutus, with their followers, landed at Totnes.” He told them how Corin threw the Giants’ king, Gogmagog, on Plymouth Hoe, and then cast him headlong into the sea over the cliff ever since called Langomagog, or the Giant’s Leap.

“For which the conquering Brute, on Corineus brave
This horn of land bestowed, and marked it with his name,
Of Corin, Cornwall call’d, to his immortal fame.”

“Soon after this,” Mr. Wood used to say, “the rest of the giants died for grief. The remembrance of Corin’s exploit was also preserved by the figures of the wrestlers being cut out in the turf on Plymouth Hoe. These were renewed as they were worn out. The Cornish should be proud to excel in this exercise, for the remembrance of the great Corineus from whom they are said to derive their pedigree! So shew yourselves like brave Trojans, my boys—equally ready to fairly fight and then to feast with their opponents, using no cunning wiles or tricks to betray. They were good hurlers, too, as well as wrestlers. Besides this, our old heroic games, and the chase, which may be classed with them, afford such wholesome excitement as serves to dispel melancholy thoughts, which, if they be brooded over, are apt to render people crazy, especially when they lead such solitary lives as most country-folk must. The wisest of eastern sages has said that there are proper times for joyous diversions as well as for labour. Such old romances, too, as are related around the winter’s hearth, serve the same good purpose in that dreary season.”

It seems that, formerly, in spite of all the subtle disguises that the devil assumed, he was mostly known when ranging abroad; and Mr. Wood was always able to detect and conquer him, if he ventured within his jurisdiction. The parson changed the Evil One into the shape of an animal, and then belaboured the infernal beast lustily with his hunting-whip, until it ran away, howling like Tregagle. When walking, Mr. Wood usually carried a stout ebony stick. On its massive silver head was engraved a pentacle, or Solomon’s seal, and on a broad ring or ferrule, just below the knob, were planetary signs and mystical figures. This staff was regarded with curiosity and awe. It was said that, by means of it, “he ruled the planets, controuled evil spirits, repelled witchcraft, and performed supernatural work generally.”

The following stories are still told by the winter’s fireside in Ladock and adjacent parishes. As usual there are various versions, which differ in detail, because our old droll-tellers claimed a free flight for fancy in such portions of their stories as admitted of it.

THE PRIZE WRESTLER AND DEMON.

There was a famous wrestler of Ladock, called John Trevail, though more generally known among his comrades as “Cousin Jackey,” from the common practice of thus styling favourites who may be no relation. One Midsummer’s day Jackey went into a neighbouring parish and threw their champion wrestler. In his pride, he said, as he swaggered round the ring, “I am open to a challenge from any man, and wouldn’t mind having a hitch with the Devil himself, ef he’d venture!”

After the wrestling he passed a few hours with his comrades in the public house. On his way home, alone, about the “turn of night,” he came to a common called Le Pens Plat, which is two miles or more from Ladock Churchtown. As he was going on slowly, from being somewhat tired, and not very steady in the head, he was overtaken by a gentleman dressed like a clergyman, who accosted him in gentle tones, saying,

“I was at the wrestling to-day, and I think you are the prize wrestler. Am I right?”

“Yes, sir, I won the prize that I now carry,” replied Trevail, who felt very uneasy at meeting there such a strange, black-coated gentleman at that time of night, though a full moon and clear sky made it almost as light as day.

“I am very fond of wrestling myself,” resumed the stranger; “it’s an ancient, manlike exercise, for which we Cornishmen have always been renowned; and, as I want to learn more science in my play, I should much like to try a bout with you; say for your gold lace hat and five guineas, which I will stake.”

“Not now, sir, for I’m tired,” Jackey replied, “but I’ll play you after dinner-time if you please, when I’ve had a few hours rest—say two or three o’clock, if it will please you.”

“Oh no; it must be at midnight, or soon after, now the nights are short,” said the stranger; “it would never do for one in my position to be seen here wrestling with you, high by day; it would scandalize my cloth in these particular and gossip-loving times.”

Trevail hesitated, and thought of the wild words he had uttered in the ring. He had then challenged the Devil, and he felt persuaded that he was now face to face with his enemy, in this lonely spot. Thinking it best, however, to be as civil as possible, he agreed to the stranger’s proposal to meet him there at midnight, or soon after; they shook hands to the bargain, and the gentleman gave him a purse with five guineas in it for his stake, saying at the same time—

“You are well known to be an honest fellow, I’ve no fear of your not bringing the money and your prize won to-day; and if, by any mischance, I shouldn’t come, the money is yours; but there’s little doubt of my being here sharp upon midnight.”

He then wished Jackey good morrow, and went away over the common by another path leading northward. The poor fellow felt, as he trudged along homeward, that he had sold himself to the Old One. In looking down, when he said good morrow (he couldn’t bear the stranger’s eye) he saw what he believed to be a cloven foot peeping from beneath his long black skirts. Poor fellow! he felt as bad as gone, unless he could be rescued some way. But he could devise no plan by which to avoid his fate.

Dragging himself along, as best he could, afraid to look behind him, he got to his dwelling about three o’clock in the morning. His wife, on hearing the door opened, came downstairs. Seeing Jackey’s haggard looks she refrained from “jawing” him as usual, when he came home late, and the want of her rough talk made him feel worse than ever. Jackey took from his pocket the bag of guineas, and threw it into the tool-chest, among a lot of lumber, saying, “Molly, my dear, doesn’t thee touch that shammy leather bag for the world! ’Tes the Devil’s money that’s in am!” Little by little he told her what had happened on the common, and concluded by moaning out,

“Oh Molly, my dear, thee hast often wished that Old Neck would come and take me away bodily, and now et do seem es ef thy prayers are to be answered.”

“No, no, Jackey my son, never think of et,” sobbed she; “whatever I said was only from the lips outwards, and that’s of no effect, my darlin. I can’t afford to lose thee yet for awhile. As the sayan es, ‘Bad as thee art it might be wes (worse) without thee.’ Go the wayst up to bed, my son, et mayn’t come to that for awhile: I’ll this minute put on my cloak and hat, and away to the passen. No good for thee, nor all the world, to say no, for he only can save thee.”

On her way to beg Mr. Wood’s assistance she called up a croney with whom she was on pretty fair terms just then.

“Arrea! soas; what’s the matter?” exclaimed the gossip, looking from her chamber-window. “Have anybody cried out that you’re in such ‘stroath’ (hurry) at this untimely hour.”

“Come along to the passen’s,” replied Molly. “I’m so ‘flambustered’ (worried) I can hardly speak. Somethan dreadful have happened to our Jackey; and you mustn’t drop a word to anybody, for your life, of what I’ll tell ’e on the road.”

The reverend gentleman, being an early riser, was standing at his door, looking out in the grey of the morning, when he saw the two women, in much agitation, coming towards him. Ere he had time to speak, Jackey’s wife, with her apron to her eyes, sobbed out, “Oh, your reverence, I be a poor woman ruined and undone, that I be; for our dear Jackey have ben and sold hisself to the Old One, and will be carried away bodily the very next night ef you don’t save am! That a will.”

After some questions Mr. Wood got an inkling of the case, and said to Molly,

“Make haste home, my good woman, and tell Jackey, from me, to cheer up; I’ll see him presently and tell him how to act, and I’m pretty sure the Devil will meet his match, with my assistance.”

Shortly after sunrise Mr. Wood entered the wrestler’s dwelling, and found him stretched on the chimney-stool, sound asleep. When Jackey knew the wise step his wife had taken—the only one indeed of any use under the circumstances—he became tranquil, and, worn out as he was with great exertion of body and mind, he soon forgot his troubles. Mr. Wood roused him and said,

“Why, Jackey, is there any truth in what your wife has just told me, or did you fall asleep on the common and have an ugly dream? The chamois-bag that Molly spoke of may contain nothing more than wart-stones that bad luck cast in your way; but tell me what happened from first to last, and let’s see the bag.”

Trevail related his adventures, and concluded by saying,

“’Tes all like an ugly dream, sure enow, your reverence, and I wish it were nothing else, but the Old One’s money es there in my tool-chest, and I remember every word that passed; besides I should know him again among ten thousand,—such fiery eyes I never beheld in any other head, to say nothan of the glimpse I had of his cloven foot.”

Then Jackey brought the bag, holding it at arm’s length with a pincers, as he might a toad. Urged on, he opened it and turned out five pieces of glittering gold.

The parson, having examined them, said,

“The sight of these spade guineas, with what you have told me, leave no doubt that you bargained to wrestle with the Devil; for he it is; you could get this gold no other way; I’m certain you wouldn’t use unfair means to obtain it. The money seems good enough, whatever mint it might have been coined in. Yet take courage, you must be as good as your word, and to-night meet the Old One, as you call him. Don’t fail to be at the appointed place by midnight, and take with you the stakes, as agreed on.”

Jackey looked very dejected on hearing this; intimated that he didn’t like to go alone, and that he had trusted to have Mr. Wood’s company.

“You must keep your word with the Devil,” continued the parson, “or he may come and fetch you when least expected. I shall not go with you, yet depend on it I’ll be near at hand to protect you against unfair play.”

Whilst saying this Mr. Wood took from his pocket-book a slip of parchment, on which certain mystic signs and words were traced or written.

“Secure this in the left-hand side of your waistcoat,” said he, in giving it to Jackey; “don’t change your waistcoat, and be sure to wear it in the encounter; above all, mind ye—show no fear, but behave with him precisely as you would with any ordinary wrestler, and don’t spare him, or be fooled by his devices.”

Jackey’s wife now came in. She had been “courseying” (gossiping) on the road, to ease her mind. Mr. Wood left the dwelling; and Trevail, now in pretty good heart, went with him some distance.

On parting the parson cautioned him to keep the matter private.

“That I will be sure to do,” replied Jackey; “I havn’t told a living soul but my wife, and she can keep a secret first-rate—for a woman. There’s no fear now of my showing a white feather, thanks to your reverence.”

At the appointed time our prize-wrestler went boldly to Le Pens Plat Common and waited near the spot agreed on. At midnight the gentleman in black arrived by the same path he took in the morning. They looked hard at each other for some minutes without speaking, till Trevail said, “I’m come in good time you see, and there are the prizes on that rock. You know the rules of the game, I suppose, that one must lay hold above the waist; whichever makes three falls in five bouts wins the prize; it belongs to you, as the challenger, to take the first hitch.”

Still the stranger made no reply, and kept his gleaming eyes on the wrestler, who, feeling uncomfortable under his persistent stare, looked towards the rock, where the prizes lay, and said, “Then, if you won’t wrestle, take your money, and no harm done.”

That instant Trevail felt himself seized, all unawares, by his waistband and lifted clear off the ground. It seemed to the man as if the Old One rose with him many yards above the earth; and its “far-re-well to all the world with me now,” thought Cousin Jackey to himself.

During a desperate struggle in the air, however, the man got his right arm over his opponent’s shoulder, and grabbing him on the back with a good holdfast, took a crook with his legs. In the encounter the wrestler’s breast, or rather his waistcoat, touched the Evil One, who on the instant lost his hold, fell flat on his back, as if knocked down, and writhed on the ground like a wounded snake. The wrestler pitched to his feet as he came down, never the worse, but his temper was now raised to such a point that he was ready to fight or wrestle with any man or devil.

The other rose up with fury in his countenance, and exclaimed, “You have some concealed weapon about ye that has wounded me; cast off that waistcoat.”

“No, by golls,” replied Jackey, “that I wont, to please ye; feel my jacket if you like; there’s no blade in am, not even a pin’s point, but ’tes you that show the queer tricks; catch me off my guard again ef you can.”

Saying this he clenched the Old One like a vice; but they had a hard struggle for more than five minutes, pushing and dragging each other to and fro at arm’s length. The Old One seemed afraid to close in. Jackey felt all out of sorts with the blasting gleams of the other’s evil eyes, and couldn’t get a crook with his legs. At last, making a desperate plunge, he freed himself from the Devil’s grasp; took him with the “flying-mare,” and threw him on his back with such a “qualk” as made him belch brimstone fumes.

The devil quickly sprung up, looking very furious, and said, “I’m deceived in you, for your play is very rough, and I desire you to request Parson Wood to go home. I am confused and powerless whilst he is looking on.”

“I don’t see Mr. Wood, nor anybody else but you,” returned Jackey.

“Your sight mayn’t be so good as mine,” replied the other. “I can only just see his eyes glaring on me from between the bushes on yonder hedge, and I hear him mumbling something too. If I’m foiled again it will be all owing to your confounding parson. I hope to serve him out for this some day.”

“Never mind our passon, he can wrestle very well himself,” said Jackey in a cheerful tone, “and do like to see good play; so come on, at it agen.” Saying this he grasped his opponent in a “Cornish hug,” with more vigour than ever, laid him on his back as flat as a flounder, and said, “There, you have had three fair falls; but if they don’t satisfy ’e, I’ve more science to teach ’e yet.” The wrestler kept a sharp eye on the prostrate one, intending to give him another thumping qualk the instant he rose, unless he asked for quarter. During the half minute or so that he watched the demon crameing on the ground like a serpent, the sky became overcast, and the moon obscured with gathering clouds, which seemed bursting with thunder. Looking closely, in the dim light, at the gentleman in black, Jackey was frightened to see that, in a twinkling, his feet and legs had become like those of a huge bird; his skirts changed to a pair of wings; and his form was still changing to that of a dragon, when he flew away, just skimming the ground at first, and leaving in his wake a train of lurid flame; then soared aloft and entered the pitch black clouds, which, on the instant, became all ablaze with lightning, and thunders roared, echoing all around from hill to hill. As the black cloud ascended, with a whirling motion, it appeared like an immense wheel revolving in the air, flashing lightning and shooting thunder-bolts from all around its border.

The demon’s sudden change and flight, with the noxious vapours spread around, so confused and stupefied Jackey, that for a minute or so he lost sight of all above and below. Whilst still like one in a trance, gazing on the sky, now clear overhead, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and heard Parson Wood say, in cheery tones, “Well done, my boy; I was proud to see thy courage and good play. See, there’s the devil’s battery,” continued he, pointing to a small black cloud so far away as to be almost lost to view; and casting a glance round he noticed, on a rock, Jackey’s gold-lace hat and the bag of money.

“Come, my son, rouse thee,” said he, “take up thy prizes and let’s be off homeward.”

The wrestler took up his hat, but looked askaunt on the bag of guineas, as if unwilling to touch it.

“Take the money,” urged Mr. Wood. “It’s fairly won; but some old sayings are passing in thy mind such as ‘A guinea of the devil’s money is sure to go, and take ten more with it.’ ‘What’s gained over the fiend’s back will slip away under his belly;’ and other old saws of the like meaning, which don’t refer to such money as that; but to unfair gains gotten by those thieves in heart who are too greedy to be honest. Yet even such often hold fast the cash for themselves and theirs, when the devil cries quits by taking them all at last.”

Trevail took up the bag, and, as he pocketed it, a flash of light drew their attention to the fiend’s retreat, now so high that it appeared a mere dot in the clear sky. They saw a streak of fire leave it, and, descending like a shooting star, fall in a neighbouring parish.

“Mark that, Jackey!” exclaimed Mr. Wood, “for it’s no other than your wrestling devil, or one of his company, who has come down amongst St. Endor witches; and it strikes me that we havn’t seen the last of him yet.”

“There’s a hut on a moor just where he dropped,” said Jackey, “in which a number of hags meet every now and then; and when they have agreed on the mischief they are to work, about midnight they fly away on their brooms or ragwort stalks. In the small hours of morning they are often seen beating homewards in the shape of hares. Many old hags over that way get what they like for the asking. If any one of them hap to be refused she’ll shake her bony finger at the one who denies her, and say, ‘You will wish you had,’ and sure enow, from the fear of some ill wish falling on them or theirs, the old witch is pretty sure to get all she looked for.”

On their way home Jackey thanked the parson most heartily for his protection, and told him that in the first bout he thought all was over for him in this world, when the Old One rose with him off the earth “ever so high.”

“You are mistaken in that, my son,” replied Mr. Wood, “it was only your fright on being seized unawares and suddenly lifted off the ground that made ye think so; for, to give the devil his due, he never tried to fly away with you. I saw it all, and precautions had been taken to guard against foul play on his part, if any tricks were attempted, as you will understand by-and-bye, when I tell you of my night’s work.”

Jackey didn’t contradict the reverend gentleman, but he was of the same opinion still; and whenever he told the story in after years, always asserted that on his first hitch he was taken up “towers high,” and still getting higher, until he came to close quarters with the Old One.

“I have had a busy time of it,” continued Mr. Wood. “Long before midnight I was on the ground—which I knew from your description to be the place of your encounter,—and summoned thither many powerful spirits, who attended with pleasure to see such a wrestling. They hadn’t, of late, beheld the like, though, in days of yore, contests between men and demons were not unfrequent. The one you have conquered is a devil of high rank. He came attended by a great number of lower degree; and precautions were taken to place around ye a ring of my true and valiant spirits, who made your opponent’s attendant fiends remain in an outer circle.

“Besides, there were crowds of vagrant spirits wandering to and fro, on the earth and in the air, as is their custom from midnight to cock-crowing; all of them stopped to witness your contest. They were all visible to me, though by you unseen; and well for ye it was so, because a sight of such beings would be sure to shock ye or any other unprepared mortal. Many in the crowd were very ghastly in appearance. Your demon’s retainers were in their usual form, which suits them for air or earth.

“Many bets were made between the spectators in both circles and overhead; and a great many of the demon’s backers are bound to serve the winners for ages. They don’t much mind that, however. Time hangs heavy on their hands; and of all spirits, fallen ones are the most restless, as it goes against their grain to do mortals a good turn. For the sake of some change in their wearisome existence they rise tempests, serve the evil behests of witches, and perform other acts of deviltry, such as we often hear of; yet they are a melancholy set that one might pity.”

The wrestler expressed his wonder at what the parson related; yet, from what he had heard of devils’ doings, wasn’t much surprised.

Over a while Mr. Wood resumed, “I am somewhat chagrined though all has gone well on the whole; for I was watching to see thee give three fair falls, intending then to rush on the devil and shame him, if possible, with a lusty thrashing with my hunting-whip, it’s fastened round my waist; but, as bad luck would have it, in getting hastily over the hedge my skirts caught in brambles, and I dropped my ebony staff. That instant, whilst it lay on the earth, the demon took a form which used to be common amongst the infernal brood. At his signal the attendant fiends formed a thunder-cloud to receive their chief. The guardian spirits, well pleased, only quitted their charge when my hand was laid on your shoulder; all the rest you saw.”

“I have often heard,” said Jackey, “of a dragon that burned Helston, was that a devil too?”

“Very likely, or something as bad,” replied Mr. Wood. “The tradition handed down simply says that, in old times, before there was a bar formed at the Loe, and when the tide flowed past the site of St. John’s Mill, a dragon often came from over sea and burnt the ancient town. Yet the dragon which visited Helston might only have been a northern pirate’s ship known by that name.

“I was going to tell you that I owe this wrestling devil a grudge. Who, indeed, in my place wouldn’t be vexed with the beast for taking the disguise he so impudently assumed? Decked as he was in a three cocked beaver and black garments, he might easily pass himself off for a clergyman, without a close scrutiny.”

“I thought sure he was,” said Jackey, “he wore a white neck-cloth too; and one could hardly make out if he had a cloven foot or no.”

From walking slowly home it was broad day when they arrived at the parsonage. Mr. Wood gave the wrestler a substantial breakfast of cold beef, bread, and ale. After a hearty meal, Jackey said, “I should be glad to serve your reverence at any hour by day or by night, for I owe you more than life.”

“Not so, my son,” the parson replied, “for I have only done my duty in guarding from the wolf a wild and thoughtless one of my flock.”

The money, however, did the wrestler but little if any good, and it was the cause of quarrels between him and his wife, and of both with their neighbours. Jackey soon learnt how it was rumoured all around that he had sold himself to the Old One to have his wishes gratified for a few years, with the usual consequences to follow. Now he had told nobody but his wife—of course, Mr. Wood’s prudence was not to be suspected,—and she had only spoken of her trouble to her crony, who went with her to the parson. Accordingly, dame Trevail accused her gossip of having spread many falsehoods round the parish, and abused her for the breach of confidence.

The crony retorted by saying, “Fool that thee art, however cust (canst) thee expect me, or anybody else, to keep thy secrets, when thee cusn’t keep them thyself? And what do I care; I han’t had any share of thy dirty money; by golls! I wedn’t touchen weth a peer of tongs; I han’t got a spoon long enow to sup weth thy old gentleman. All the neighbours do say that of late, since thee hast had thy new rig out, from top to toe, thee art become so huffish and toit (uncivil in reply) that they can’t venture to say ‘What cheer,’ or give thee the ‘time o’ day’; and that poor Cousin Jackey han’t got a minute’s peace in his own house with thy constant ballarggan (abuse) and naggan that will fret am to death before long. Then thee mayst wring thy hands and cry ‘bad as Jackey was, a es wes (worse) to live without am.’ Well, soase! my bedgownd and towser (large coarse apron to come all round and tie behind) es good enow for me or any other honest workan woman. They say that thee wert decked out like a lady in church a Sunday, with thy new covertail (kirtle) gownd, who but thee forsooth! A clean bedgownd, check-apron, and quilted-petticoat do more become thee. ’Tes no wender people do gibe thee for thy pride; and ’tes as good as an old ‘merable’ play to hear what they do say about thee. Now, go thee wast along home, and think over what I’ve told thee.”

For many years after this Jackey continued to be the champion wrestler of his neighbourhood; and the story of his midnight adventure took the form of a droll just like the above.

Shortly after Mr. Wood gave the wrestler his ghostly aid, the reverend gentleman had much fiendish annoyance on that account, as will be seen in the sequel to this story.

One may remark that many old folks often compare a droll subject to an old miracle play, though they have but a misty idea of what it was. The other day an elderly man of Newlyn, in speaking of old droll-tellers meeting together and spinning their yarns, said, “It is as good as an old miracle-play to hear them.” On my asking what an old miracle play was, he replied that he couldn’t say exactly, but from what he had heard, he thought it was much the same as an old guise-dance. He wasn’t much out, as “St. George and the Dragon” was the guise-dance he had in view.

THE FEATHERED FIEND.

Ladock men were famous ringers of old; but from a few weeks before their champion’s victory over the demon-wrestler, the fine old bells of their church had been silent because their ropes were quite worn out, and other gearing connected with them required repairs to be used with safety. Shortly after Trevail’s victory, an evil spirit, in the form of a very large bird, with coal-black plumage, and fiery eyes, but of a kind unknown to Ladock folks, was seen perched on the tower for several nights in succession, where it remained for hours jumping from one pinnacle to another, and making an unnatural clamour, which was heard far away. Shortly after it came by day, and even during Divine Service. The pastor and his flock were distracted by its croaking and cawing, as if in derision.

When the clerk, with five or six other elderly men and two women, who formed the choir, quavered through the psalms—which they sung in parts, much in the mode of old “three-man-songs,”—this feathered fiend, just over their heads, on the tower, would utter such infernal noises as to make sad discord of the old men’s music. The clerk seldom used a book, as he knew pretty well, by heart, the three or four psalms they usually sung; but sometimes he would commence with a verse from one, and then give out portions of others; and now his memory was so confused by irritation that one Sunday he concluded by giving,—

“And now may Heaven amend us all,
And into bliss us bring!”

Happily the two female singers discovered his mistake as he was going to finish the verse with—

“This was the hunting of the Cheviot:
God send us all good ending!”

Every now and then the accursed thing would mimic all sorts of familiar but jarring sounds; sometimes it screeched “like a pig caught in a gate;” then quickly changed its note to imitate the cry of hounds in full chase; or the cackling and scolding of old women. By such noises coming down from the elevated site, many of the congregation were constrained to burst out in roars of laughter, which, like yawning, is very catching. Prim folks, who put great restraint on themselves in order to retain a solemn demeanour, suffered such pains that they had to leave Church and give vent to their pent up feeling.

Mr. Wood was nonplussed; the Evil One was too high up to be reached with his hunting-whip, and the methods by which he had formerly exorcised demons now failed. From this one’s position, he could not comply with all the prescribed formulas, such as enclosing him in a magic circle, &c. The reverend gentleman felt his fame as an exorcist was at stake. He told his people that the accursed thing was no other than a mean mocking devil sent thither by the demon-wrestler to torment him, out of revenge for his aid to their champion, whereby Jackey’s victory and the Evil One’s discomfiture were assured.

The increasing vexation continued for many weeks, until Mr. Wood was struck with an idea which he turned to good account; and which should be recorded for the benefit of others who may ever have to encounter the like difficulties.

One Sunday, after evening service, when the congregation had dispersed—the clerk and sexton waiting in the porch,—the parson came out of the Church sighing, “Oh! for how long is this grevious trial to endure;” and, turning to his clerk, said, “We and the people might as well have stayed at home for all the benefit derived by them from either the service or the sermon this afternoon. I could not help observing that their attention was more given to the horrid noises which reached them from the tower than to my instructions from the pulpit.”

“It’s a very hard tryal for you, to be sure,” replied the clerk, “but, as for me, I’ve more than once had a great mind to smash my bass-viol and rush out of Church; ’tes always hard work for me to keep our singers in time and tune; and now, with this screechan devil on the tower, we are always in confusion, and might as well sing ‘Chevy Chace’ for all the words anybody can hear; et wed try the patience of Job ef he, like me, had a ‘pare’ of singers to lead, and the devel makan such a ‘drilzey’ (irritating noise) over hes head; it wed be wes for am than havan to listen to hes conceited com——”

“Pray thee leave Job and his comforters for the time,” exclaimed Mr. Wood. “The good man, like many another, might well say, ‘Save me from my friends.’ I noticed, too, that many strangers come from a great distance, more and more every Sunday, drawn hither by curiosity. I have tried all authorised means for expelling demons that the position taken by this one admits of; but I find the truth of what has long been said, that, of all devils, those of the mocking kind are the most difficult to subdue; they may be likened unto hairbrained, self-conceited fools amongst mortals, who can only be ruled by the rod, and this fiend keeps too high up to be reached by my whip. Yet sometimes, indeed, when I read to the fiend at the utmost pitch of my voice, he remained so still that I hoped he was being subjected to my will; but the conjuration or incantation ended, he always hopped upon a pinnacle, cocked his tail, danced round, and cried caw, caw, as much as to say it’s all a farce, and I like to hear your voice.”

“Now only to think of es emperance,” murmured the clerk.

“I have heard, too,” continued Mr. Wood, “that some thoughtless youngsters have proposed to try on him the virtues of powder and lead. I am glad to learn, however, that they have been better advised; the result of such temerity would, probably, be something awful for them. I now come to the particular matter I wish to speak with you about.

“During a long pause I had to make in my sermon this afternoon, whilst the plumed devil took his turn, a thought occurred to me which I hoped might be a happy inspiration.”

“Goodness grant et,” cried the impatient clerk; “do ’e tell me what et es, and hear the devil screaman now.”

“You know what is said in Holy Writ respecting little children,” resumed Mr. Wood. “You likewise know that sage old folks have a saying, ‘the Evil One can’t endure the sight of an innocent child,’ and——”

“Aye, verily,” interrupted the clerk; “bless me, sure ’tes a wender I dedn’t think of that before, why old people—who are the only ones that know anything—say a babe in a house es more use to keep evil sperats out of en than a five-pointed star (pentagram) cut on the drussell (door-sill), and any number of hos shoes nailed to the lentran (lintel). Besides, we all know the rash lawyer who summoned the sperat of that unjust stewart, Jan Tregagle, into Court, by sayan, ‘ef Tregagle seed the money paid, may Tregagle appear and declare et.’ By the time the words were well out of hes mouth, the enraged sperat stood before am, sayan,—‘Thee hast found et easy to bring me here, but thee west find et harder to put me away agen;’ and the enraged Tregagle wed ha torn the lawyer lem from lem, ef he hadn’t snatched a little child from a woman’s arms and held et in hes own. Weth that protection he defied the wild sperat—who was jest the same as a devil, from beean weth them so long,—drove am into a corner and pinned am there, while all the other people tore out of Court, for their lives, except the cheeld’s mother and the judge. As a was ’sizes there happened to be many passens in town (Bodmin), and they, on hearan of et, went all together to lay Tregagle. You know what trouble they had nearly all night, and couldn’t quell the sperat till the Rector of Roach came among them and——”

“Ho!” exclaimed the parson, “west thee keep me here all night with thy endless fables about Tregagle, that we have all heard from our childhood. Listen to what I was about to say regarding the means whereby I hope to expel this fiend from Ladock.

“I suppose there are several unbaptised children in the parish, as many women have been in childbed, I know, since last Ladock-tide (the parish feast), but none of their children have been christened.”

“Haif a dozzen, or more, have ben in the straw,” replied the old man, “and all their children are kept tel next feasten-tide, to be christened then, accordan to custom, that the same treat may serve for witnesses (sponsors) and feasters; that et may be ‘the more the merrier,’ for feasten-time; and some of them are nearly ready to tumble in agen before they’ve returned thanks for their last deliverance. I was gwean to say just now,” continued the clerk, as Mr. Wood was about to speak, “that ef you had only been in the world in Tregagle’s time, and qualified for a sperat-queller and devel-driver as you are now, that Evil One, who es more like a devel than a mortal’s sperat, wedn’t ha been left to carry on, in the way he ded, for many years; after sweepan the sand from one West country cove to another, in a crack, when they were miles asunder; stoppan up the Loo, and so changan Helston from a seaport to an inland town; then back again for another job, and frightnan people out of their lives almost, with the devel and hes hounds chasan am round and round Gosmoor and about, tryan to keep am from the Chapel on the rock, where Tregagle always took refuge. Happely passons fixed am, at last, to team out Dosmery. There he’ll have to stay, for ever and ever and aye. He mait as well try to dip the ocean dry weth hes leaky croggan (limpet shell) as that bottomless pool, which as a part of the sea, they say, as et do fall and rise with the ebb and flow of the tide; and for a few minutes after the tide’s turn to ebb, there’s a whirlpool in the meddle of en, when bushes and other light things floatan near are sucked down, and sometime afterwards they rise agen in Falmouth Harbour or St. Austell Bay, I forget which,—some say the one and some ’tother. I wanted to ax ’e somethan about ’n, fearan I shud forget, but——”

“Stop, for goodness sake,” cried the parson, “leave Dosmery and Tregagle to the charge of Old Nick and be—be attentive to what I have farther to say regarding our own devil, and the means to be essayed for driving him; and when we have happily concluded, we will—on some winter’s night—overhaul these old stories, to see if there be a few grains of truth underlaying the mass of fables.

“Now, as I take it that recently baptised children have the greatest power to drive away evil spirits, I wish you to go round the parish to-morrow, and request all prudent women who have lately undergone the pains and perils of childbirth, to come and be churched next Sunday afternoon, if they are able, and to bring their babes to be christened at the same time. If a goodly number can’t be got to come next Sunday, let it be on the following week, but arrange with the mothers that they all come at the same time.”

“I’ll do the best I can, accordan to your wishes,” replied the clerk, “but they won’t be willan to come before the feast, because poor people don’t care to make two treats when one would do.”

“Tell them to give the sponsors cake and ale, for the time,” replied Mr. Wood, “and put off their chief entertainment till the tide, when we’ll have a merry time of it. The feasten week I’ll go round and visit them all; and you, being fiddler-in-chief, shall have enough to do. Call at my house when you come back to tell me how you have got on, and that we settle on the number, and other matters to be observed.”

Whilst talking they had walked slowly towards the parsonage. The clerk having agreed to Mr. Wood’s proposals, they wished each other good night and separated.

Early on the following morning Clerk Courtney, as he was called, began his journey round the parish to ask the mothers of all unbaptized children to bring them to be christened the next Sunday afternoon. After stating the urgent reason for his request, the women replied to the effect that they would have preferred leaving their christenings till the feast, for the sake of economy; yet being desirous, above all things, to please their good parson, they promised to attend, as required, and thought it nothing strange that they should be wanted for such an occasion, as they knew the trouble the devil had given, and the prevalent belief in the power of young children to rout evil spirits. Few of the good dames were provided with wheaten flour, as barley-bread was the “staff of life” then in all labourers’ and most small farmers’ households. They told the clerk, however, that if they couldn’t get wheat to take to mill, in time for making a christening cake, they would buy a few penny worth of biscuit, so as to have white-bread for offerings on their way to be “uprose.” They would on no account neglect this old custom of giving to the first person met on the way to be churched a good slice of cake or wheaten bread of some sort; it was believed to bring good luck to the giver, receiver, and child.

The mother also drew a presage, from the first person by whom met or overtaken on leaving her threshold. She regarded encountering boy or man as a good omen that her next born would be a boy. Such was the dislike of many mothers to meeting another woman that they often left the path, or, if they saw no way for avoiding a meeting, the poor woman passed the omen of ill-luck on the right hand, as she would a witch, and appear not to see her. Yet their most general plan was to turn back home, if not far from it, and touch the “cravel” (mantle-stone across the head of an open chimney) with her forehead, and cast into the fire a handful of dry grass, or anything picked up, on the way back, that would burn; then start again, hoping for better luck.

The practice of resorting to the hearth and touching the “cravel” [1] with the head, is regarded as the most effectual means of averting any impending evils of a mysterious nature.

The reasons for their preference of boys to girls may be found in the old sayings:—“While the boy is away his bread winning, the maid is home doing nothing but spinning.” “Boys can take care of themselves, but maidens can’t.”

The dames would all get a “half-a-strike” of wheat each and take it to mill if they could. They liked going thither to “serge” (sift) their flour to their liking, and hear the latest gossip from the miller’s wife, or other women who brought their grist. Mills were so noted as places for scandal, that any slanderous tale used to be called a “mill story.” The mill, too, was the usual place of rendezvous for young folks of summers’ evenings, when they generally had a dance, to music from the miller’s fiddle,—all the old millers could play dance tunes. If the miller hadn’t leisure, some of the merry company either beat up the time on a “crowd” (sieve-rind with a sheepskin bottom, used for taking up corn, flour, &c.), or they sung verses of old ballads which suited the measure. We will no longer linger over our pleasing old customs.