{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_67175/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_67175","id":"gutenberg_67175","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/67175","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Folk literature, English","Folklore -- England","Tales -- England"],"text":"LEGEND LAND\n\n[Illustration: (cover art: fairies tending a garden)]\n\n Being a further collection of some of the Old Tales told in those\n Western Parts of Britain served by the Great Western Railway\n\nVolume Three      Price Sixpence\n\n[Illustration: Map of central England and Wales, the area covered by\nthe Great Western Railway. Title reads: G. W. R. The line to legend\nland. Various places mentioned in the book are identified: Glasfryn\nLake (page 20), Craig-Y ddinas (page 12), Narberth Castle (page 4),\nMelangell (page 8), Harlech Castle (page 16), St. Govan's Chapel (page\n24).]\n\n\n\n\nLEGEND LAND\n\n Being a further collection of some of the _OLD TALES_ told in those\n Western Parts of Britain served by the _GREAT WESTERN RAILWAY_, now\n retold by _LYONESSE_\n\n[Illustration: The shield of the Great Western Railway.]\n\nVOLUME THREE\n\n_Published in 1923 by_\n\nTHE GREAT WESTERN RAILWAY\n[FELIX J. C. POLE, GENERAL MANAGER]\nPADDINGTON STATION, LONDON\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS AND ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n          Contents and Illustrations                _Page_  2\n          Foreword                                          3\n          A Prince who would hang a Mouse                   4\n          St. Melangell and Her \u201cLambs\u201d                     8\n          Where King Arthur Sleeps                         12\n          Bronwen and the Starling                         16\n          The Swan of Glasfryn                             20\n          The Wonders of St. Govan\u2019s Chapel                24\n          The Fairy Gardens of Treen                       28\n          How the Dodman was Named                         32\n          The Charmer of Pengersick                        36\n          How St. German left Cornwall                     40\n          The Spectre of Rosewarne                         44\n          The Legend of the Four Halls                     48\n          \u201cJohn Dory,\u201d a \u201cThree Man\u2019s\u201d Song (_Supplement_) 52\n\n[Illustration: **** Decorative divider ****]\n\nThis is a reprint in book form of the third series of _The Line to\nLegend Land_ leaflets, together with a Supplement, \u201cJohn Dory,\u201d an old\nCornish \u201cThree Man\u2019s\u201d Song.\n\nThe Map at the beginning provides a guide to the localities of the six\nWelsh legends, that at the back to those of Cornwall and \u201cJohn Dory.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: **** Decorative divider ****]\n\n                    _Printed by_ KELLY & KELLY,\n                    _Moor Lane, London, E.C.2._\n\n\n\n\nFOREWORD\n\n\nThis third volume of Legend Land tells some more of the old stories\nof those peoples, kindred in origin, the Welsh and the Cornish. They\nare mostly the old tales that have survived--who shall say how many\ngenerations?\n\nIf you look into them, with the eyes of imagination, you will see\nbehind them the simplest romances of a very simple people; a people\nthat explained some uncomprehended thing with some comprehensible\nstory, or who would invest the memories of their great men and women\nwith records of wonderful achievement often formerly attributed to some\nyet earlier hero.\n\nBut that is a student\u2019s occupation. Many weighty tomes have been\nwritten upon the origins of folk-lore.\n\nFor us it is sufficient to be glad that the old legends have survived.\nLet us enjoy them without speculation as to their beginnings,\nremembering only that they had a beginning, most of them in an age so\nlong ago that history cannot place it.\n\nThese romances are perhaps the most \u201cgenuine antiques\u201d that our country\ncan offer, and they come from the corners of our land where romance\nstill lingers and where, to the country folk, rocks and lakes, streams\nand great hills, are matters of history--not geology.\n\nAnd we, who travel to these distant parts of Britain, can better enjoy\ntheir charms if we go there knowing something of the stories that have\nclung about them for many centuries, and if we leave our critical\nbusiness method of mind behind us locked in our office desks.\n\nThat is why these old tales are again retold by\n\n                                                              LYONESSE.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: A Prince with gallows for a mouse being addressed by a\nbishop.]\n\nA PRINCE WHO WOULD HANG A MOUSE\n\n\nOn the very border line of \u201cThe Little England Beyond Wales,\u201d as South\nPembrokeshire is known, a land of many splendid old castles into which\nthe sea bites deep at Milford Haven, stands Narberth Castle, famous for\nmany things, among them that its owner once tried to hang a mouse.\n\nIt is a queer old story of magic and sorcery, and as the tale goes,\nfar, far back in history, Prince Manawyddan lived at Narberth Castle\nwith his stepson Pryderi and Cigfa his wife. One day a great darkness\nfell upon the land, and when it had passed Pryderi and all the\nretainers had vanished. Narberth was left unpeopled save for the Prince\nand Cigfa.\n\nSo these two fell to work to cultivate the land themselves. They worked\nhard and when harvest time came they were rewarded by the sight of many\nfields of waving corn. But, when they began to reap, Manawyddan and\nhis daughter-in-law found to their consternation that the grain had\nbeen eaten from every ear of corn and that all they reaped was straw.\nThe Prince suspected sorcery, and resolved to watch that night in an\nadjoining field which had not yet been robbed.\n\nTowards midnight he heard a weird rustling sound, and, gazing from his\nplace of concealment, he saw a horde of field mice roaming over his\ncrops, nibbling away at the ears of wheat. Manawyddan sprang forward\nand captured one of the marauders, and the others scampered away.\n\nFor safety he placed the captured mouse in a glove and then returned\nto Narberth Castle determined to hang the thief. He erected a little\ngallows, and was fashioning a noose of string in order to carry out the\nexecution on the castle slopes, when there came along a scholar who\nenquired what the Prince was doing.\n\nManawyddan told him, and the scholar protested, saying that it was\nunseemly for a prince to act a hangman\u2019s part. \u201cCome, I will give you\na pound to ransom the thief,\u201d he added, but Manawyddan refused. So the\nscholar passed on and presently a priest approached. He too enquired as\nto the Prince\u2019s task and also tried to dissuade him from it, offering\nfive pounds as a ransom. But the Prince was adamant.\n\nThen as he was about to release the mouse from his glove and string it\nup, a bishop came by. Like the other two strangers he began to argue\nwith Manawyddan and offered ten, then twenty pounds to have the mouse\nset free. But the Prince\u2019s suspicions were now aroused. \u201cNo,\u201d said\nhe, \u201cthe thief shall hang.\u201d Then the bishop fell into a great rage\nand stamped his foot in anger, and as he did so his mitre fell off\ndisclosing the fact that he was no bishop but a noted sorcerer of the\nneighbourhood.\n\n\u201cName your price,\u201d he said at last, \u201cthe mouse shall not hang, for she\nis my wife.\u201d\n\nSo Manawyddan drove a bargain. He demanded the return of his stepson;\nthat all spells should be removed from his land and never replaced; and\nthat no vengeance should be wreaked upon him. To this the enchanter\nagreed, and the Prince untied his glove and out ran, not a mouse but a\nbeautiful lady who went away with her rescuer.\n\nThat night the stepson and all the retainers returned, the cornfields\ngrew rich and ripe, and ever since Narberth and the lands round about\nhave been amazingly fertile.\n\nYou may prove the truth of this latter to-day if you visit this\npleasant and prosperous land, with its mild climate and abundant\ncrops. There is a station at Narberth, but Tenby, that picturesque and\nattractive little town on the coast of Carmarthen Bay, is perhaps your\nbest centre for the district. The coast to the westward is wild and\nrocky, while inland is a glorious country, scattered more thickly than\nany part of our islands with the remains of noble medieval castles.\n\nTenby itself is one of the most delightful seaside towns in the\ncountry. It has extensive sands between its rocks and the sea\u2019s edge.\nThe place has ample accommodation for visitors of all kinds, and the\npraises of Tenby\u2019s reputation for sunshine at all seasons of the year\nhave been sung by writers for many years past.\n\n[Illustration: _Narberth Castle._]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: St. Melangell greeting a few men.]\n\nST. MELANGELL AND HER \u201cLAMBS.\u201d\n\n\nUp in the Montgomeryshire mountains, three or four miles from the\nshores of Lake Vyrnwy, is the little village of Melangell, named after\na saint who for fifteen years, so the story goes, lived a lonely life\nin the midst of the wild hills, sleeping on the bare rock, rather than\nmarry the man her father had designed for her.\n\nSt. Melangell was the daughter of a Welsh chieftain, and when she\nran away, to avoid the undesirable bridegroom, she hid herself in a\nremote but lonely spot at the head of the Tanant. Every effort to make\nher return to her father\u2019s home failed and she continued to live her\nsecluded life, choosing the birds and the animals for friends.\n\nAfter some fifteen years of this solitary existence, they say,\nBrochwel, Prince of Powis, was hare hunting up in the hills and ran\nhis quarry into a dense thicket. He entered in pursuit and soon found\nhimself face to face with a woman of marvellous beauty beneath whose\nrobes the frightened hare had taken refuge.\n\nThis strange woman raised her hands in supplication, and begged the\nPrince and his party to depart and spare the life of the animal that\nhad come to her for succour. It was one of her friends, she said. The\nPrince, much impressed by this incident, halted, unable at first to\nunderstand what was happening, but his attendant huntsman, ignoring the\ngentle plea and anxious only to be on with the chase, raised his horn\nto his lips to rally the hounds.\n\nThen a strange thing happened. No sound issued from the horn, nor could\nhe remove it from his mouth to which it remained stuck fast.\n\nIn terror, the man fell upon his knees, and tried to beg forgiveness,\nbut he could not articulate. Then Prince Brochwel, realizing at once\nthat he was in the presence of a very holy woman, stepped forward and\nasked her pardon, promising that the hare should receive no hurt from\nhim. The holy woman smiled and the huntsman regained his speech, his\nhorn dropping to the ground.\n\nThe Prince then asked Melangell what he could do to serve her.\nMelangell asked for a grant of a small piece of land to serve as a\nsanctuary. The Prince immediately gave her far more than she asked and\nbesought her to found upon it a convent.\n\nSo the good woman proceeded to carry out his wishes and lived the rest\nof her holy life in a cell, which you may see to-day at the east end of\nMelangell Church. And upon the cornice of the oak screen of the church\nyou will find carved many scenes from her life story.\n\nSt. Melangell ever retained her love for wild animals and is considered\nto have taken hares, which she called her \u201clambs,\u201d under her particular\nprotection. They say that even now, if you call upon St. Melangell to\naid a hare pursued by hounds, the animal will escape; consequently, the\nholy woman is not greatly beloved of huntsmen.\n\nHer lonely hill-side bed, upon which she slept for fifteen years,\nstill survives near the church. It is a recess in the rock now\novergrown with bushes, but is there for all the world to see, to prove\nconclusively--if you require proof--the truth of this charming legend\nof the solitary lady of the hills.\n\nMelangell and the lovely country of hill and stream, and glittering\nwaterfalls, thickly wooded little valleys, and bare upstanding\nmountains, that stretches all about it, is best reached from Llandrillo\nStation on the picturesque line that runs from Corwen to Bala by\nthe valley of the Dee. This is a fine sporting country, where the\nred grouse flourishes and where the streams and lakes hold trout in\nabundance. \u201cThe Welsh Highlands\u201d it is aptly called.\n\nThe Berwyn Mountains, that here divide Merioneth and Montgomeryshire,\nrise to over 2,000 feet in Moel Ferna near Corwen, from which\nstation there is a motor car service in summer to Bettws-y-Coed, a\nplace, perhaps, more famed than any in Wales for the beauty of its\nsurroundings.\n\n[Illustration: _Lake Vyrnwy._]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: an old man pointing out a pile of gold to a younger man,\nwhile others sleep on the floor.]\n\nWHERE KING ARTHUR SLEEPS.\n\n\nThe old stories tell that King Arthur and his gallant knights are not\ndead; they are only sleeping and will awake with renewed vigour, should\never they be needed to fight the enemies of their beloved land. And\ntheir resting place is within the great upstanding limestone rock of\nCraig-y-Ddinas in South Wales.\n\nThere is a tale told of a Welshman from Llantrisant who was accosted\non London Bridge, of all places, by a strange little man with a grey\nbeard, who asked where he had cut the hazel staff he carried. The\nWelshman replied: \u201cIn my own country not far from my home.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere that staff was cut,\u201d the grey beard said, \u201cis gold beyond\ncounting and I can show you how to get it.\u201d So the Welshman invited his\nqueer acquaintance to accompany him to his home, and shortly afterwards\nthe two set out for Craig-y-Ddinas, which is a few miles away in the\nVale of Neath.\n\nThey came to an entrance of a cave close by where the hazel staff had\nbeen cut, and the stranger bade the Welshman enter. Within the entrance\nwas a silver bell hanging from the roof, beyond which a passage led to\na great cavernous hall where, around a massive oak table, were a number\nof warriors, fast asleep, but still clad in their armour and with\ntheir weapons by their sides. One of these ancient warriors, with a\nlong silver beard, wore a crown upon his head. This was the great King\nArthur himself, the stranger said.\n\nBut what most attracted the eye of the Welshman was a mighty stack\nof gold piled high in the centre of the table, upon which the light\nfrom the flickering flames of a fire in one corner of the underground\nchamber glinted pleasantly.\n\n\u201cNow help yourself,\u201d said the stranger, \u201cbut in carrying out your gold,\ndo not ring the bell or you will awaken the knights. If you should\nchance to ring it be ready to answer immediately for they will ask: \u2018Is\nit day?\u2019 and you must reply: \u2018Sleep on, it is still night.\u2019 Then all\nmay be well.\u201d With this the mysterious stranger disappeared.\n\nThe Welshman did as he had been instructed, although in his hurry to\nescape with the treasure he did cause the bell to chime. But his answer\nsatisfied the awakened warriors who instantly returned to their age-old\nslumbers.\n\nFor many years this Welshman lived in luxury and ease upon his stolen\ntreasure, but at last it was exhausted, and he determined to go back\nagain to the cave and seek some more. This time his greed tempted him\nto carry away more gold than he could easily lift. He staggered panting\nwith his heavy burden to the entrance, and then again he blundered\nagainst the silver bell which gave out its warning notes.\n\nThe ancient warriors awakened. \u201cIs it day?\u201d they cried, but the\nWelshman was so breathless with his exertion that he could not reply.\nThen the knights rose from their chairs and fell upon him, beating him\ncruelly before they ejected him roughly from their cavern, and closed\nand locked the door behind him.\n\nThe greedy fellow lived for many years after this adventure but he\nnever recovered from his trouncing and he died a cripple and a pauper\nin the town where he had lived in such opulence, and although he tried\nmany times to find the treasure chamber again he could never do so. And\nso it is supposed that King Arthur and his knights still sleep on in\nCraig-y-Ddinas, awaiting the call to further action which may some day\ncome.\n\nLlantrisant, where the hero--or should it not be villain?--of this\nstrange old story lived, is a charming little town straggling up the\nsteep slopes of a wooded hill with--in this part of the world--the\ninevitable ruined castle close at hand. It is a forgotten little place\nin the midst of varied country with fine views from the top of the\nhill, over a moorland district towards the mountains of Brecknock.\n\nCraig-y-Ddinas you will find in the beautiful Vale of Neath a little\nfurther west. It rises precipitously from the edge of the little river\nMellte, and from its top, where the fairies dance of nights, you get a\nsuperb view of the lovely valley. Here you are in some of the grandest\nscenery in Wales, a country particularly rich in waterfalls and rushing\nbrooks.\n\nIt is a lovely land skirted on the south by the Great Western Line,\nthat runs from Neath to Aberdare. Neath, on the main line, is a good\ncentre from which to start to explore this beautiful valley.\n\nAnd when you tire of the mountains, you can turn southwards and see\nthat stretch of little known coast, with its bold headlands and\nspring-turfed cliffs that runs from Briton Ferry as far as busy Barry\nDocks. Strangers do not often come here, yet in all our land it would\nbe hard to find a more attractive district, made yet more pleasing by\nthe absence of _other_ holiday makers.\n\n[Illustration: _The Vale of Neath._]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: a woman sitting by window holding a bird and looking\nover her shoulder out the window.]\n\nBRONWEN AND THE STARLING.\n\n\nThis is the story of the sad fate that befell a sister of a British\nKing who lived at Twr Bronwen, which stood where Harlech Castle now\nstands, and who married Matholwch, an Irish King, and sailed with him\nacross the seas. Bronwen was her name, and they say that she was the\nmost beautiful woman in all the land.\n\nWhen Matholwch came across to Harlech to court her, he and Bronwen\u2019s\nstep-brother Evnyssien had a fierce quarrel, and so deeply insulted was\nthe Irishman that the match was nearly broken off. However, Bronwen\u2019s\nbrother Bran, the King, managed to placate the angry suitor by giving\nhim a staff of silver as tall as himself and a plate of purest gold\nas wide as his face, and presently the marriage was celebrated with\ngreatest festivity, and the happy pair sailed away for Erin.\n\nBut though their King might forget this quarrel, wild subjects would\nnot. They nursed a grievance against their new queen and stirred up so\nmuch trouble that at last Matholwch himself turned against his bride,\nputting slight after slight upon her, until in the end he degraded the\nbeautiful princess to be cook in the palace where once she had reigned.\n\nBronwen tried to send word of her sad plight to her brother at Harlech,\njust across the Irish Sea, but the vengeful Irish circumvented all her\nefforts, destroyed her letters and killed her messengers.\n\nAt last, in despair, poor Bronwen hit upon a plan. A Welsh starling,\nblown across the sea by an easterly gale, fluttered into her kitchen\none day, and the Princess fed it and tended it, hiding it in the great\nkneading trough where she was forced to make bread for the whole\nhousehold. When the bird recovered she wrote a letter to Bran, tied it\nto the starling\u2019s leg, and released it.\n\nThe bird flew straight back to Harlech, but finding that King Bran was\naway at Carnarvon, followed him there, and perched upon his shoulder\nas he sat at dinner, ruffling its feathers and whistling loudly. Bran\nput up his hand to seize the bird to discover the cause of its amazing\nbehaviour, and so found Bronwen\u2019s letter.\n\nThe King fell into a mighty rage and ordered out his fleet, then sailed\nacross to Ireland to rescue his sister and wreak vengeance upon her\ncruel husband. A great battle took place and Bran and his forces were\neventually driven back, although they managed to rescue Bronwen. But\nKing Bran was fatally wounded by a poisoned dart and died soon after he\nreached his Welsh home. Before he died, he commanded that his dead body\nshould be taken to London and buried on the White Mount--upon which\nlater the Tower of London was erected. Poor Bronwen, broken-hearted,\nsurvived her brother but a short time. She was buried at Ynys Bronwen\nin Anglesea, where, only a few hundred years ago when the mound tomb\nwas opened, an urn was found containing the ashes of the unhappy\nprincess.\n\nThis is a sad little story to centre around so charming a place\nas Harlech, now dedicated, it seems, only to the happy laughter\nof contented holiday makers. Harlech stands upon the side of a\ncastle-crowned hill, separated from the sea by those magnificent golf\nlinks famous throughout the world.\n\nIt is an ideal holiday resort in the midst of a district teeming with\nobjects of natural beauty and antiquarian interest. From it, the\nrailway line, which follows the greater part of the Cardigan Bay coast,\ngives easy access to such places as Barmouth, Aberystwyth, or northward\nto Criccieth and Pwllheli, while inland is a district of little\nlake-studded mountains and moorland, offering endless attractions to\nthe walker, the artist, or the fisherman.\n\n[Illustration: _Harlech Castle._]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: a swan near the edge of a pond, with the head of a\nwoman. The head is staring down into the water, perhaps mournfully.]\n\nTHE SWAN OF GLASFRYN.\n\n\nThat part of Carnarvonshire in North Wales that stretches out into the\nsea to Braich-y-Pwll, and forms the northern boundary of beautiful\nCardigan Bay, is known as Lleyn. Lleyn is a peninsula of splendid\nscenery, both round the coast and inland by its mountains and moorland\nlakes; and almost every square mile of the place has its legend, or\nbrave tale of historic times to tell.\n\nMidway between its two coasts is the lonely little tarn of Glasfryn,\nabout which a story is told reminiscent of that connected with Bala\nLake which has been recorded in a previous story of Legend Land.\nLlyn Glasfryn, as the modern maps call it, was once Ffynnon Grassi,\nor Grace\u2019s Well, which supplied water to those who lived by, and\ncultivated, the fertile fields now engulfed by the waters of the lake.\nGrace was a village girl whose task it was to tend this well, and one\nof her duties was to see that the cover which enclosed it was always\nkept closed when the well was not in use.\n\nOne day, so many years ago that nobody can rightly tell how long since\nit was, Grace neglected her duty. Some say that it was because of a\nmysterious and strikingly handsome youth who came down from Yr Eifl,\nthe splendid mountain that rises nearly 2,000 feet into the sky, a\ncouple of miles away. Others, that she was the victim of sorceries of\na beautiful but evil enchantress from Anglesea. But anyhow the cover\nof the well was left open one night, and, as happened at Bala, soon\nafter the weary country folk had retired to rest, they were aroused,\nin alarm, by a great flood which came from Ffynnon Grassi, which was\npouring out a stream of water, that nobody could check.\n\nSoon the prosperous farms and fertile lands round about were submerged\nbeneath the waters, and Llyn Glasfryn was formed. But the careless\nGrace to whose negligence the great misfortune was due did not escape\nunpunished. She was turned into a swan, and her fate was that,\nuntil the Day of Judgment, she must swim about the lake which her\nforgetfulness had caused to be created.\n\nSome say that after many years she was forgiven, and died; but others\nhold that even to this day you may hear poor Grace\u2019s piteous cries at\nthe dark of night, as she swims her never ending course up and down the\nsurface of Llyn Glasfryn. And if you chance to see this mournful bird\nyou will find that its head is that of a beautiful maiden.\n\nThey also tell that beneath the surface of the lake lives a mysterious\nmonster called \u201cOld Morgan,\u201d who, perhaps, is he who in those far\naway days beguiled Grace to forget her duty at the well. \u201cMorgan\u201d is\na terrible person, with whom the country children round about are\nthreatened when they misbehave.\n\nThis pathetic story of Grace and her sad fate is but one of the many\nthat cling about Lleyn. March, the husband of the fair Iseult, had a\ncastle here, and from that grim fortress, Iseult eloped with Tristan.\n\nNear Yr Eifl, Vortigern fell a victim to the charms of the beautiful\nRowenna, daughter of Hengest, and to win her favour agreed to assign\nKent to her Anglo-Saxon father. Cromlechs and other remains of early\nman are to be found on nearly every hill side.\n\nBut you must visit this fascinating corner of Wales fully to appreciate\nits charm and romance. Criccieth or Pwllheli is a good centre. Each is\nan attractive little town by the sea facing due south and sheltered by\nmountains from the north or east winds.\n\nNoble Snowdon, its summit over 3,500 above sea level, is not far away,\nand an excursion to the far end of Lleyn, where Bardsey Sound divides\nremote Bardsey Island from the mainland, takes the visitor through one\nof the most beautiful--and least known--districts in the whole of our\ncountry.\n\nFor the sportsman there is trout fishing in abundance here, and in\nseason wild fowl shooting of a kind seldom known in more popular parts\nof the kingdom. For the artist there is the endless variety of rocky\ncoast and mountain scenery, and for the average holiday-maker an\nunspoilt land swept by mild health-giving air, where he may idle away\nthe days in perfect quietude and restfulness.\n\n[Illustration: _Yr Eifl._]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: A man with halo seeking refuge behind a large rock\noutcropping.]\n\nTHE WONDERS OF ST. GOVAN\u2019S CHAPEL.\n\n\nIn a ravine that cuts into the rugged cliffs by St. Govan\u2019s Head on the\nsouth coast of Pembrokeshire, is a little chapel, once the hermitage of\nthe saint whose name the headland bears. St. Govan was a disciple of\nSt. David, and he had an adventurous life in this lonely part of Wales\nmany hundreds of years ago.\n\nThe district was harried by pirates from the sea, and savage pagan\ntribesmen from the interior, and the very rocks and stones of his\nsea-girt dwelling place had often to come to the rescue of the holy\nman. But though he has been dead these fifteen hundred years the rocks,\nthey say, still work wonders for the visitor who goes to the little\nchapel with a believing mind.\n\nIt is a tiny little place, twenty feet by twelve, with a stone tower\nup which runs a staircase of over fifty steps. Exactly how many there\nare you must try to count for yourself, for it is said that they vary,\nand never number the same going up as they do coming down. Once fierce\npirates landed here and stole a silver bell that hung in the chapel.\n\nPoor St. Govan was forced to hide from these wretches on many\noccasions. A friendly rock would then come to his aid--you may see it\nto-day to the left of the altar in the chapel. This rock would open,\nwhen the saint was pursued and disclose a hollow within just big enough\nto enclose his form. Then it would shut and hold the holy man in\nsecurity until the danger was passed.\n\nAfter St. Govan died, the rock remained part open as it is now, and\nthey say that it will adapt itself to the size of anybody, who really\nbelieves in its powers, who wishes to enter it. And if, when you are in\nSt. Govan\u2019s hiding place, you make a wish, and do not change your mind\nbefore you have turned round to come out again, you will surely obtain\nyour desires.\n\nFor many years, so the story goes, there was close by the chapel a rock\nthat gave out a beautifully clear and musical note when struck. This\nrock, they said, contained the silver bell that the pirates stole, for\nthese wicked men were not allowed to escape with their booty, for their\nship was caught in a tremendous hurricane and swept on to the rocky\nshore, and all the miscreants were drowned.\n\nBut the stolen bell was saved by some miraculous power and carried to\nthe rock, which became known as the \u201cBell-stone,\u201d where it remained in\nsecurity.\n\nSt. Govan\u2019s holy well is situated a little below the chapel, and here\ncripples from all over Wales would travel to bathe in the healing\nwaters which gave relief to their sufferings. There is another healing\nproperty in the cliffs near at hand, in the form of a deposit of red\nclay, which for centuries has had the reputation of curing sore eyes.\nBut whether or not the earth and the waters around St. Govan\u2019s Chapel\nwill work their magic for you now, the winds that blow straight in from\nthe Atlantic to this rockbound Pembroke coast will cure most ailments,\nand bring back health and renewed vigour to the most weary.\n\nPembroke is a good centre for this hilly land of castles. From here you\nmay make excursions to some of the finest coast scenery in Wales, or\ncrossing Milford Haven adventure into that beautiful and little known\ncountry that fringes the shore of St. Bride\u2019s Bay.\n\nHaverfordwest, a fascinating sleepy old town with three ancient\nchurches, is a few miles on the other side of Milford Haven, which you\ncross in a steam ferry; and from there a motor omnibus service will\ntake you to far away little St. Davids, the \u201cCathedral Village,\u201d with\nits wonderful Norman Cathedral Church. It is a magnificent journey\nthat, from Haverfordwest to St. Davids, across a wild and windswept\ncountry with seventeen steep hills to negotiate in sixteen miles, and\na magnificent view from the top of each one of them. And at the end of\nthe road one of the choicest churches in the whole country, nestling in\na sheltered valley, awaits you, and that sense of complete peace and\nquiet that can only be found in a place utterly remote from crowds, and\nthe hustle and worry of modern life.\n\n[Illustration: _St. Govan\u2019s Chapel._]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Fairies tending a garden.]\n\nTHE FAIRY GARDENS OF TREEN.\n\n\nThe Small Folk, or Fairies, as strangers call them, are very fond of\nflowers. They have their own particular gardens in many places around\nthe rough Cornish coast, but mostly they are to be found near the base\nof jagged cliffs in little green tracts, inaccessible either from the\nsea or from the summit of the cliff above. There are several of these\nnear the foot of the cliffs round Trereen or Treen Castle, that rugged\nheadland near the Lands End, upon which stands the famous Logan Rock,\nor rocking stone.\n\nYou can generally tell a Small Folks\u2019 garden by the many sea pinks\nthat bloom there in season, and the peculiar brightness of the green\nof the ferns that nestle in the moist shade of the rocks. There is\nnothing much else to distinguish them by day, but of a summer night it\nis very different. Then if you chance upon one of them--which is very\nrarely--you will find the soft green of the cliff turf spangled with\nwee flowers of all colours, rare and beautiful, such as mere mortals\nnever know.\n\nAnd you may see the Little People dancing happily in rings around some\nsea pink which towers above their heads, or busying about with tiny\nwater-pot or spade tending their beloved blooms.\n\nThe fishermen sometimes see them when, on a still summer night, their\nboats drift silently close in by the cliffs. They hear the strains of\nsweet soft music coming from close down by the water and see a constant\nmoving of hundreds of tiny bright lights flickering in and out among\nthe fairy flowers; and sometimes, on calm warm nights, the delicious\nscents of the flowers drifts far out to sea, a scent that is ten\nthousand times sweeter than any that came from a mortal garden.\n\nThose who have been lucky enough to witness this wonderful scene say\nthat you must be perfectly silent and hardly move, or you will frighten\nthe Small Folk. They are very beautiful little creatures, seeking to\nharm nobody. They hold periodical feasts or \u201cFairs,\u201d as they are\ncalled, sometimes upon some lonely hill top, or in a glade in the depth\nof a thick wood. Then, when thousands of them are assembled together,\ntheir lights may often be seen for miles.\n\nBut you must not interfere with the Small Folk or they will punish you.\nThey have their own ways of doing this. They will lead you astray for\nhours, or make you drop stitches at your knitting, or make you lose\nyour path on a dark winter\u2019s night. But to those who wish them well\nthey will never do real harm and they seem often to be sorry for the\nmischief they have caused, and will reward their victims with some\npiece of good luck soon afterwards.\n\nAt least this is what the old people who have known the Little People\nwill tell you, but they will not talk much about them nowadays for fear\nof not being believed.\n\nStill you may see the Fairy Gardens for yourself by Trereen Castle if\nyou will, and see all around some of the finest coast scenery in all\nCornwall.\n\nThe Logan Rock itself is one of the sights of the country. It is a huge\nboulder of granite said to weigh 65 tons, so poised that without great\neffort it can be rocked to and fro. Once it was easier to move, but a\nmischievous naval officer pulled it from its base about 100 years ago.\nHe was made by the Admiralty to replace it, but it has never rocked so\nfreely again.\n\nThis is the westernmost corner of England, and a succession of\nmagnificent headlands thrust themselves into the sea between Trereen\nand the Lands End. A few miles inland is Sennen, the \u201clast\u201d parish in\nthe country.\n\nPenzance is the best centre for visiting this remote district. A\nregular service of motor buses runs from that place to the Lands End,\ncarrying the visitor within an easy walk of Treen Castle and its Fairy\nGardens, and traversing on the way a wild windswept, almost treeless\ncountry, abounding in relics of our earliest ancestors--strange stone\ncircles and British villages. The moorland hills here rise to 800 feet\nin height, and from them extensive views are to be had comprising,\non ordinarily clear days, the far isles of Scilly, lying out in the\nAtlantic, thirty-five miles away.\n\nThis is a land of health and rest where Small Folks\u2019 gardens seem far\neasier to understand than in the grime and turmoil of a great city.\n\n[Illustration: _The Logan Rock._]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: One man has just pushed another man off the cliff.]\n\nHOW THE DODMAN WAS NAMED.\n\n\nSomewhere about the middle of the south coast of Cornwall, a noble\nheadland, the Dodman Point, stretches abruptly into the Channel,\ntowering, at its summit, 370 odd feet above the waves. It is one of the\nlandmarks of the south coast well known to every sailorman.\n\nUnimaginative people, like antiquaries and professors, will tell you\nthat Dodman only means \u201cStone Point,\u201d and is merely a corruption of the\nold Cornish \u201cDuadh Maen\u201d; but the country folk take no heed of that;\nthey know the old story handed down from long dead ages. They know that\nDodman means \u201cDeadman,\u201d and this is why.\n\nEver so long ago there lived a giant in his castle on Dodman Point. The\nrugged earthworks, remains of the castle, are there to-day for you to\nsee if you doubt it. This giant was the terror of the neighbourhood. He\nfed upon the best of the cattle and sheep, and very often children were\nmissing, for the giant liked variety in his food.\n\nThe country people were powerless against this ogre whose size and\nstrength were stupendous. To keep off intruders he dug, in one night,\nthe great ditch--which is still there--that runs from sea to sea across\nthe Point. But one stormy night he fell sick, and his howls of agony\nwere heard for miles around, terrifying the simple peasant folk with\ntheir blood-curdling tones.\n\nAt last, towards midnight, there arrived at the village of St. Goran, a\nmile and a half inland, a messenger from the giant demanding the local\ndoctor instantly, and threatening horrible revenge were he to delay.\nNow the local doctor was a very brave man, also he had suffered a good\ndeal from the depredations of the evil giant, so he obeyed the summons\nand went back with the messenger, his neighbours never thinking to see\nhim again.\n\nArrived at the castle, he found the giant rolling in agony on the\nground, and he swiftly devised a plan for ridding Cornwall--and the\nworld--of this horrible ogre.\n\n\u201cYou must be bled,\u201d he said, following the general medical treatment of\nthe day.\n\nThe giant roared out that he would do anything to be rid of his pain.\nHis voice was so loud, they say, that he could be heard distinctly at\nMevagissey. So the doctor got to work and the treatment gave relief.\n\nTo complete a perfect cure, the doctor explained, the giant must sit\non the edge of the cliff at the point of the headland, and the giant\nobeyed the instruction. And then the doctor, standing by and looking\nvery wise and serious, allowed the monster\u2019s blood to flow away until\nwith weakness he became unconscious. The huge and hideous head sank\nlower and lower, the great powerful body crumpled, until at last the\ndoctor, with a mighty effort, rolled his evil patient to the cliff\u2019s\nedge--and kicked him off on to the rocks beneath.\n\nThen he returned to tell the glad news to St. Goran, where, to\ncelebrate it, they held a feast lasting five days. And ever after that\nthe Giant\u2019s promontory was known as the \u201cDeadman,\u201d or as we have come\nto call it, the \u201cDodman.\u201d\n\nThere it is to-day as wild and beautiful a headland as any in Cornwall.\nIn the giant\u2019s mighty bulwark known locally as the \u201cHack and Cast,\u201d\nwild flowers bloom. From the summit a wonderful view, from the Lizard\nto the west to the Devon coast eastward, extends.\n\nMevagissey, one of the most characteristic of Cornish fishing ports, is\nless than four miles away, and all about is a fascinating little known\ncountry of deep fertile little valleys and seldom-visited villages,\nwhile the coast scenery of Mevagissey and Veryan Bays, which the Dodman\npractically divides, is rugged and charming.\n\nHere you get the full freshness of the Atlantic breezes, fierce enough\nat times, but more often soft and soothing.\n\nSt. Austell is your nearest railway station, an interesting old town,\nthe centre of Cornwall\u2019s china clay industry. It is on the main line\nand may be reached easily from any part of south or west Cornwall, and\nfrom there country omnibuses will take you within a few miles of the\nremote Dodman, the scene of that village doctor\u2019s wonderful \u201ccure,\u201d so\nmany centuries ago.\n\n[Illustration: _Mevagissey._]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Two mermaids, various fish and sea birds staring at a\ncastle near the seaside with a flock of birds near it.]\n\nTHE CHARMER OF PENGERSICK.\n\n\nThe Pengersick Castle that you find to-day, built by the coast between\nParran Uthnoe and Porthleven near Helston, is a mere upstart building,\nlittle, if any of it, more than four centuries old. This story is about\nthe older castle built on the same site nobody knows how long ago.\n\nIt was a grim fortress inhabited by grim and eerie folk, about whom\nmany wild and creepy tales are told. The old Pengersicks were a strange\nfamily who trafficked with the powers of evil. One went to far eastern\nclimes and learned the black arts of sorcery, and brought back with him\nas his bride an \u201coutlandish Saracen\u201d woman of surprising beauty.\n\nNobody knew actually where she came from, but she arrived unexpectedly\nat the castle, one winter day, with her Lord and two eastern\nattendants, all mounted on priceless Arab horses. They spoke in an\nunknown tongue and disappeared behind the frowning gates, seldom to be\nseen abroad again.\n\nSome say that this strange party arrived before the castle was built,\nand that it was this saturnine Lord of Pengersick who, by supernatural\naid, erected the first grim fortress; but all agree that the beautiful\nEastern lady possessed the most wonderful voice that had ever been\nheard.\n\nNo living creature could resist its appeal. Men and women, birds,\nanimals, even fishes, stopped spellbound to listen when she sang. And\nshe and she only could control her evil husband.\n\nWhen engaged in his blackest sorceries, brewing strange potions that\nsent their exotic aromas throughout the country for miles around, or\nwhen, in the middle of a storm, he sat upon the battlements of his\ncastle conjuring the Prince of Darkness, the Lord of Pengersick could\nalways be quieted by the sound of his Lady\u2019s voice singing her strange\nEastern songs to the strain of her harp.\n\nShe seemed a sad, beautiful Lady, this Saracen woman. Sometimes at\nnight, or at summer dawn, she sat by her lattice window overlooking the\nsea, and played and sang to herself the plaintive melodies of her own\nland. Then, as the fisherfolk would aver, they sat motionless at the\nsound of her sweet voice. Even the fishes would come to the surface to\nlisten; birds hovered over the castle, and mermaids from the Lizard\ncaverns would float across the bay, enchanted by the appealing tones.\n\nFor many years these strange happenings went on at Pengersick castle;\nthe fair lady\u2019s harp sent its sweet music through the air, the\nforbidding Lord continued his incantations, until one wild and stormy\nnight--the darkest ever known in those parts--the countryside was\nstartled by an eerie gleam in the sky. Presently angry flames burst\nforth, and the frightened people, hurrying from all sides to discover\nwhat this huge conflagration might be, found that Pengersick Castle was\nablaze.\n\nNothing they could do would still the flames, the massive pile burnt\nitself out, and the next morning only the fire-scarred walls remained.\nThe whole of the inside--furniture, books, pictures--everything was\ndestroyed; and what was more curious, from that day onward neither the\nLord of Pengersick nor his Lady was ever seen again. They had vanished\njust as mysteriously as they had arrived.\n\nYears later a rich merchant--some said he had been a pirate--built upon\nthe site of the ruins a new castle. That is the one you see to-day, a\nmellow old building looking peacefully out to sea. You may visit it\neither from Helston or Penzance, it lies about midway between the two.\n\nNear at hand is famous Prussia Cove where, in the 18th century, a\nsmuggler armed his house and opened fire upon the Revenue men with\nsmall cannon. To the west is Mounts Bay with the more famous St.\nMichael\u2019s Mount, and to the east low undulating cliffs stretch in a\ngraceful curve, until they rise to the rugged headlands dividing the\nsheltered coves of the Lizard Peninsula.\n\nThis coast is the very end of England, enjoying a climate mild even\nin the depth of winter. Spring comes here fully six weeks before it\nreaches London, the Midlands and the North; summer lingers almost until\nChristmas time, and, like the Strange Lady of Pengersick, the sea and\nthe hills of this part of the Duchy exercise a charm that none can\nresist.\n\n[Illustration: _Pengersick Castle._]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: A man with halo flying away with two angels on a chariot\ndrawn by two spirit horses (with wings).]\n\nHOW ST. GERMAN LEFT CORNWALL.\n\n\nSome fifteen hundred years ago the Church in Cornwall had fallen into\ngrievous heresies, and the Roman Emperor Valentinian decided that a\nstern, strong man was needed to pull these erring people back into the\nright way. So he instructed St. Germanus of Auxere to go to barbarous\nBritain and tell the Cornish all about it. And accordingly St.\nGermanus, or St. German, as we call him, came.\n\nBut the erring people were not at all pleased with their visitor.\nThey preferred their own priests and their old teachings, and good St.\nGerman had a very hard time of it. But he stuck to his task, preached\nthe true faith, performed remarkable miracles and erected a beautiful\nchurch. Yet the stubborn Cornish would not make friends with him. On\nthe contrary they persecuted him in many ways, doing their utmost\nto drive him away, so that they might be left in peace with their\nold-fashioned doctrines, which they much preferred to the right and\nproper teachings of this foreigner.\n\nAnd at last the patience of the saint gave out. The unruly people\nstarted a brawl in church during a Sunday morning service. St. German\ntried to reason with them, but they would not hear him. He prayed for\nthem but they jeered at him, and their conduct became so threatening\nthat the good saint\u2019s companions, fearing for his life, persuaded him\nto escape from the church.\n\nPoor St. German was heartbroken. He felt that his mission had failed\nutterly. And in the depths of despair he wandered away out to lonely\nRame Head, where he sat by the cliffs\u2019 edge and lamented his lack of\nsuccess. Here he was compelled to hide from his persecutors for some\ndays, and they say that the very rocks wept with him in his grief, and\nstill weep at St. German\u2019s well.\n\nBut at last the furious mob discovered the saint\u2019s hiding place, and a\nvast crowd, led by the local priests, came swarming up the hill side of\nRame determined to destroy the holy man.\n\nSt. German faced the maddened rabble fearlessly, praying only for\ndeliverance from their anger. Then, as the first stone was thrown,\nthere came a crash of thunder, and in a blaze of light a fiery chariot\nwas seen descending the hill.\n\nThe mob started back in terror, but the chariot rolled on to where the\nsaint stood. Two glittering angels were in the chariot. They tenderly\nlifted St. German from the ground and placed him between them. There\nfollowed a great rushing wind, and the amazed and terrified crowd\nlooked upward to see the fiery chariot ascending into the heavens.\nThen, in mighty dread at the result of their wickedness, the people\nscattered and fled.\n\nSt. German was carried safely overseas, where he lived for many years\nto continue his pious works. It is even said that after a time he\nreturned to Cornwall again and completed his appointed task. At any\nrate St. German\u2019s Well still flows, and for many centuries--perhaps if\nyou looked hard you could find them still--the marks of the chariot\nwheels were to be seen burnt into the rock of Rame Head.\n\nRame is a magnificent headland, the easternmost of Cornwall, surmounted\nby an ancient ruined chapel dedicated to St. Michael. It is the nearest\npoint of land to the Eddystone, and from it on a clear day you can see\nto the Lizard--the whole length of the county.\n\nSt. Germans, a quiet little place named after the saint, was the seat\nof an early bishopric, the splendid old Norman church marking the site\nof the ancient cathedral. Both St. Germans and Rame Head are easily\nreached from Plymouth, St. Germans being under ten miles by rail from\nthat place, and in summer boat excursions may be made to Cawsand, a\nlittle over a mile from Rame Head, and up the beautiful Lynher River to\nSt. Germans.\n\nThis part of East Cornwall has a distinctive charm of its own. The\nTamar, which forms the county boundary, is most attractive to explore.\nThere are many early churches and castles round about, and the variety\nof river and sea scenery offered here is obtainable nowhere else in the\nDuchy. That great arm of the sea, that runs up from Plymouth Sound and\ncomprises the Lynher, the Tamar, and the Tavy estuaries, will in itself\nprovide interest for many excursions, while the barren heights of both\nthe Bodmin Moors and Dartmoor are more easily accessible from Plymouth\nthan from any other centre.\n\n[Illustration: _Rame Head._]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: A man in dark cloak traveling at night, accosted by a\nspecter of an old man.]\n\nTHE SPECTRE OF ROSEWARNE.\n\n\nNear Camborne, in the mining district of South Cornwall, is Rosewarne,\nwhere was once one of the great houses of the county. Two hundred\nyears or so ago an avaricious attorney named Ezekiel Grosse obtained\npossession of the place by shady means, and this is the fate that\nbefell him.\n\nOne night, after he had taken possession of the place, Ezekiel, engaged\nin studying some deeds, looked up to find standing before him a queer\nwizened little man of ghostly appearance, motioning him to follow. The\ncrafty lawyer, afraid only of losing money, told the apparition to go\naway. But the little man remained, still making his strange signs.\n\nAt length Ezekiel asked what he wanted, and the ghost replied: \u201cTo show\nthee where much gold lies buried.\u201d\n\nGold was a bait the lawyer could never resist, but there was something\nso grim about the manner of his strange visitor that an unfamiliar\nfeeling of dread came upon him, and he was unable at first to rise.\n\n\u201cCome,\u201d commanded the ghost. \u201cGold, Ezekiel, gold.\u201d\n\nEzekiel at last staggered to his feet, now quaking with fear.\n\n\u201cFollow me,\u201d said the spectre in a hollow voice, and the lawyer, torn\nbetween emotions of fear and greed, obeyed.\n\nThe spectre led the shivering lawyer out into the grounds of Rosewarne\nand, after a long walk, they arrived at a little dell surrounded by\nhigh banks and trees, in the centre of which was a small carn of\ngranite boulders. In the darkness Ezekiel noticed that his guide seemed\nto emit a weird phosphorescent light, and he was yet more terrified.\n\nThen the spectre turned upon him and said: \u201cThou longest for gold,\nEzekiel, even as I did. Yet I could never enjoy it; see if thou canst.\nDig there. Beneath those stones is gold aplenty. Win it and enjoy it,\nand when thou art happiest I will come to visit thee again.\u201d With this\nthe strange figure gave a wild mocking laugh and disappeared in a blaze\nof white light.\n\nEzekiel Grosse recovered his nerve and ran back to the house for tools.\nAll night he dug, and uncovered a huge pot filled with ancient gold\npieces. It took him seven nights to remove them all, and when he had\ncompleted his task he found himself one of the wealthiest men in all\nthe countryside. His ghostly visitor never returned, and after a few\nyears Ezekiel almost ceased to remember him.\n\nTime passed by and the world forgot the past reputation of Ezekiel\nGrosse. Because of his great wealth, honours and position were showered\nupon him. Then came a night when he was entertaining a magnificent\nparty in his great Hall. Laughter and the sound of music and dancing\nmade the old rafters ring until, of a sudden, the gaiety ceased as if\nby magic. In the midst of the Hall appeared the aged spectre.\n\nEzekiel did his best to turn the matter into a joke, but his guests\ncould not be roused from their inexplicable gloomy emotions. One by one\nthey made excuses and departed and at last the lawyer was left alone\nwith his ghostly visitor.\n\nFrom that time onward whenever Ezekiel had a party the wizened figure\nof the spectre was present. He would sit without speaking at the\nbanqueting table or walk slowly among the dancers until at length,\ngazing full at the Lord of Rosewarne, he would utter an unearthly laugh\nof derision and disappear.\n\nSoon Ezekiel Grosse\u2019s friends all deserted him and he was left an old\nand lonely man, whose sole companion was one, John Call, his clerk.\n\nSo Grosse sought to bargain with the spectre, and had at last to\nconsent to give up all his worldly possessions to John Call. When the\ndeeds were signed the ghost finally disappeared, uttering one last\ndemoniac peal of laughter as he went.\n\nOld Ezekiel only survived for a few weeks. One morning he was found\ndead, and the country folk tell that at his funeral a crowd of grinning\ndemons appeared, which afterwards flew away over Carn Brea, and that\nfrom its midst came the same horrible laughter that the spectre had\nbeen heard so often to emit.\n\nRosewarne, the scene of this story, lies in that barren mining\ncountry which every visitor to Cornwall should see. It is intensely\ninteresting, and permission is not difficult to obtain, to visit some\nof the tin mines where an industry, carried on in Cornwall since the\ndays of the Phoenicians, still survives.\n\nThe hills and moorland of this district are scarred with old workings\nand abandoned mine buildings. Rugged Carn Brea, crowned by prehistoric\nremains and the ruins of an ancient castle, rises 740 feet high, close\nby the main line between Redruth and Camborne. Here, they say, was the\nchief centre of Druid worship in the west. This district is easy of\naccess from St. Ives, Penzance, Falmouth or Truro, and a visit to it\nwill ever be remembered with pleasure, bleak and dreary though the mine\nriddled land may seem at first sight.\n\n[Illustration: _Carn Brea._]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: A young woman sitting on rocks with and consoling an\nelderly person.]\n\nTHE LEGEND OF THE FOUR HALLS.\n\n\nMany an old tale is told of that great waste of sand-hills which\nfringes the coast of Perran Bay between Newquay and Perranporth. They\nsay that there stood the lost city of Langarrow, once a busy town, that\nbecame so wicked that it was swallowed up in a night of fierce storm by\nthe sands, and no trace of it left to offend the earth.\n\nRight on the very edge of these sands, in the parish of Cubert, is the\nhamlet of Ellenglaze. Hellenclose was its old name, and that means the\n\u201cFour Halls.\u201d There is a little known story about this place, or rather\nabout the house that stood there in the very old days, and it explains\nwhy the place was so called.\n\nHellenclose was once much nearer to the sea, but three times the\nrelentless sands overwhelmed it, and each time the Lord of Hellenclose\nset himself to erect a new dwelling further inland, for they were of a\nstubborn race in those days, and would not easily submit even to the\npower of the storms and the winds.\n\nIt was a young Lord who built the fourth hall, in defiance of all\nadvice, close by where the present house stands. Wise men warned him\nthat the same fate would befall that as had overtaken the others, but\nhe laughed at them, and his house finished, he rode off to fetch his\nbride from Meneage by the Lizard.\n\nThe night he returned was an ominous one. A great gale was getting up,\nand the retainers eyed anxiously the restless sand-hills not so far\naway. But the young Lord was happy and careless and bade his people\nsleep soundly for no harm would come. But the next morning the invading\nsands were seen approaching, and panic fell upon the household, who\ncried out that there was a curse upon the land.\n\nPresently they dragged to the anxious Lord and his new-made wife an old\nhag whom they had found hiding in a barn. She was a witch they said,\nand to her was due all their troubles. By this time the cruel sand was\nalready sweeping around the walls of the house, and the young Lord in\nhis trouble gave orders for the hag to be hanged forthwith, saying\nthat she should not live to cackle over the result of her evil designs.\nBut his beautiful young bride intervened.\n\nCasting herself weeping at her bridegroom\u2019s feet she begged him to\nspare the old woman\u2019s life. \u201cI believe she is no witch, but one in\nmisfortune as we are,\u201d she cried, and so eloquent were the pleadings of\nthis beautiful girl that all who heard her were moved to tears--all,\nthat is, save the old woman who remained dry-eyed throughout the whole\nscene. At last the husband relented so far as to promise that the\nsupposed witch should be spared until nightfall. If by then the house\nremained safe the old woman should go free; if not: \u201cBy St. Pirran, she\nshall hang,\u201d he vowed.\n\nThe young bride agreed to this compromise and herself undertook to be\nresponsible for the old woman\u2019s safe keeping. She led her outside the\nhall, where the sand was now driving in low clouds over her lord\u2019s\nland, and besought the old dame, if she had any power to do so, to\navert the almost inevitable tragedy.\n\nThe hag avowed her innocence. \u201cThen the Saints aid us all,\u201d replied the\ngirl, and with that she planted a kiss upon the old woman\u2019s shrivelled\ncheek.\n\nNow a witch cannot shed tears--that is one of the ways you may always\ntell one--but a kiss given freely and with good will, can break the\nbonds of magic that bind a witch; and no sooner had the young bride of\nHellenclose kissed the aged woman than tears began to well from her\neyes. These fell to the ground and caused first a tiny trickle then\na regular stream which flowed on through the sand towards the sea at\nHolywell Bay.\n\nAnd as the stream grew in size, so the invasion of the sands ceased for\nsand cannot cross running water, and the Fourth Hall was saved.\n\nTo-day you will find Ellenglaze separated from the barren sands about\na hundred yards away, by a little brook. So long as that flows, the\nhamlet is safe, but should it ever dry up, they say there would have to\nbe a fifth hall, and the waste would sweep on until perhaps it reached\nSt. Cubert\u2019s Church on the hill inland.\n\nThe lonely and fascinating Perran Sands are easily reached from either\nNewquay or Perranporth. The coast on the Newquay side is particularly\nfine, for a succession of steep rocky headlands here thrust themselves\ninto the Atlantic rollers, and between them are quiet little\nsand-fringed bays where one may idle away a summer afternoon with only\nthe sea birds for company.\n\nNewquay itself, with its many fine hotels and its bathing beaches, is\none of the most attractive of all the north Cornish coast towns, from\nwhich the most impressive of that coast scenery may easily be visited.\n\n[Illustration: _Ellenglaze._]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Galleys at sea fitted for war with painted sails,\nbanners flying, archers and spearmen in the crows nest and railings,\nand oars plying the sea.]\n\nTHE STORY OF \u201cJOHN DORY.\u201d\n\n\nThis very old song commemorates the brave doings of the \u201cFowey\nGallants,\u201d as the mariners of that wonderful old-world Cornish seaport\nwere called. They were men, famous throughout the middle ages, as the\nboldest and most daring of sea fighters.\n\nIt possibly has reference to some heroic action fought in Edward III\u2019s\nreign, when Fowey\u2019s contribution to the King\u2019s fleet is said to have\nbeen 47 ships and 770 men.\n\nThe song itself was perhaps written a hundred years later than this,\nbut it is certain that in Tudor times it was one of the most popular\nsongs in the land, so well known in the West that Richard Carew in his\n\u201cSurvey of Cornwall,\u201d published in 1602, refers to it in his account of\nFowey, and calls it old then.\n\nHe says: \u201cMoreover the prowess of one Nicholas, son of a widow, near\nFoy, is descanted upon in an old three man\u2019s song, namely, how he\nfought bravely at sea, with John Dory (a Genowey, as I conjecture), set\nforth by John the French King, and (after much bloodshed on both sides)\ntook and slew him, in revenge of the great ravine (_see Transcriber\u2019s\nNote_) and cruelty which he had forecommitted upon the Englishmen\u2019s\ngoods and bodies.\u201d\n\nCarew\u2019s assumption is that John Dory was a Genoese employed by the\nFrench King.\n\nMany writers of the 16th and 17th centuries spoke of the song; Dryden\ndescribed it as one of the most popular in his time. But gradually it\ncame to be forgotten as songs in praise of newer heroes arose.\n\nBut at any rate we can take it that \u201cNicholl\u2019s\u201d feat was no ordinary\none, for he came of a race that loved fighting. The Fowey mariners were\nalways ready for a sea fight, engaging in a little private piracy when\nlegitimate warfare was not available. And they took their full share in\nthe struggles against the Armada, and late against the Dutch admiral De\nRuyter.\n\nFowey--Q\u2019s \u201cTroy Town\u201d--has seen as stirring a life as any of our\nseaport towns. It is still a busy, picturesque little place, straggling\nalong the edge of its beautiful sheltered harbour, at the mouth of\nwhich remains of its ancient castle-fort still stand.\n\nIt is a fascinating place in which to spend a holiday, warm and\nsheltered, with excellent opportunities for sailing or sea or river\nfishing; and its neighbourhood abounds in pleasant walks and places of\ninterest.\n\n[Music and score: \u201cJOHN DORY\u201d]\n\nVerse 1.\n\n    1st MAN. As it fell on a ho-ly day, And up-on a ho-ly tide-a,\n    John Do-ry bought him an am-bling nag, To Pa-ris for to ride-a,\n    To Pa-ris for to ride-a, And up-on a ho-ly tide.----\n    As it fell on a ho-ly day, And up-on a ho-ly tide-a,\n    John Do-ry bought him an am-bling nag, To Pa-ris for to ride-a.\n\n    2nd MAN. As it fell on a ho-ly day, And up-on a ho-ly tide-a,\n    John Do-ry bought him an am-bling nag, To Pa-ris for to ride-a,\n    To Pa-ris for to ride-a, And up-on a ho-ly tide.----\n    As It fell on a ho-ly day, And up-on a ho-ly tide-a.\n\n    3rd MAN. As it fell on a ho-ly day, And up-on a ho-ly tide-a,\n    John Do-ry bought him an am-bling nag, To Pa-ris for to ride-a,\n    To Pa-ris for to ride-a, And up-on a ho-ly tide.----\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n    The first man that John Dory did meet; was good King John of France-a\n    John Dory could well of his courtesie, but fell down in a trance-a;\n      But fell down in a trance-a at good King John of France.\n\n    \u201cA pardon, a pardon, my liege and my King, for my merie men and me-a,\n    And all the churles in merie England, I\u2019ll bring them bound to thee-a,\n      I\u2019ll bring them bound to thee-a, my merie men and me.\u201d\n\n    And Nicholl was then a Cornish man, a little beside Bohyde-a;\n    And he manned forth a good black bark, with fifty good oars on a\n          side-a,\n      With fifty good oars on a side-a, and he dwelt beside Bohyde.\n\n    The roaring cannons then were plied, and dub-a-dub went the drum-a;\n    The braying trumpets loud they cried, to courage both all and some-a,\n      To courage both all and some-a, and dub-a-dub went the drum.\n\n    The grappling-hooks were brought at length, the brown bill and the\n          sword-a;\n    John Dory at length, for all his strength, was clapt fast under\n          board-a,\n      Was clapt fast under board-a, by the brown bill and the sword.\n\n  NOTE.--The \u201c1st Man\u201d should be he of the loudest voice of the three;\n        the others should so restrain themselves that the words of each\n        verse may be clearly heard.\n\nHOW TO SING A \u201cTHREE MAN\u2019S SONG.\u201d\n\nThe \u201cThree Man\u2019s Song\u201d was the precursor of the more familiar \u201cRound.\u201d\nIt should be sung in this manner: The first man sings, alone, the\nopening line of each verse and as he proceeds with the second, the\nsecond man starts to sing the first. In like manner the third man joins\nin the harmony with the first line when the first man has reached the\nthird and the second man the second.\n\nIn order that all three singers should complete each verse at the same\ntime, it is necessary for the first man to repeat the first and the\nsecond lines, and the second man to repeat the first line.\n\n[Illustration: _St. Catherine\u2019s Castle, Fowey._]\n\n\n[Illustration: Map of central England and Wales, the area covered by\nthe Great Western Railway. Title reads: G. W. R. The line to legend\nland. Various places mentioned in the book are identified: Trereen\nCastle (Page 28), Pengersick (Page 36), Rame Head (Page 40), Mevagissey\n(Page 32), Camborne (Page 44), Newquay (Page 48), Fowey (Page 52).]\n\n\n[Illustration: Miniature of the front cover Illustration of Volume\nFour: Herne the Hunter]\n\n\n\n\nTRANSCRIBER\u2019S NOTE\n\n\nObsolete, archaic and unusual spellings have been maintained as in the\noriginal book. Obvious typos have been fixed silently.\n\nIn the story of John Dory, the phrase \u201cin revenge of the great ravine\nand cruelty\u201d appears. The word \u201crapine\u201d comes from French, and a\npopular form of this word in old French was \u201cravine\u201d. Consequently I\nbelieve that a rendering of this phrase in modern English would be \u201cin\nrevenge of the great rapine and cruelty.\u201d\n\nThe cover page was produced at Distributed Proofreaders from material\nfound in this book. The cover is hereby placed in the public domain.\n\nThe author, \u201cLyonesse\u201d is a pen-name for George Basil Barham.","title":"Legend Land, Vol. 3: Being a Further Collection of Some of the Old Tales Told in Those Western Parts of Britain Served by the Great Western Railway","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":10959}