Part 10 (2/2)

Meanwhile Henry Killigrew, after the yielding of Pendennis, had been accidentally wounded in the head by the bursting of a carbine, while his kinsman's house in the neighbourhood had suffered from the exigencies of war. They were a stirring and a striving family, the Killigrews. The name Falmouth, in those days merely meant the land at the mouth of the Fal; and on this land, when Sir Walter Raleigh, just home from an expedition, stayed with the Killigrews at their house of Arwenack, there was only one other building large enough to accommodate his men. The Killigrews wished to develop their property. They said it was absurd that vessels had not a nearer port than Penryn or Truro; and Sir Walter having just put in to this fine natural harbour, saw the golden side of their suggestion; and cared not a jot about the loss of trade to those other towns. But Truro, Penryn, and Helston, alive to their own interests, had long thrown their weight into the opposition scale; and London was some seven days' journey to the east. Therefore the building operations of the st.u.r.dy Killigrews had been brought to a standstill.

It is easy to picture the scene. Sir Walter, after a good dinner, washed down by wines that had paid no duty, sitting at his ease before the windows of the great house, the panorama of hills and land-locked harbour stretching to the horizon, and the Killigrews pointing out its capabilities as a trading-centre and naval base! The great man listened, was convinced, and, presently moving on to London, laid the matter before his Sovereign.

It was the days of interest and influence--those days which, of course, are past and over, so that even kissing no longer goes by favour!--and the Killigrews found Sir Walter's advocacy gave them all they wanted, leave to build their big nest in their own way. From that date the opposition that had been so industriously fostered by the loyal burgesses of Truro, Penryn, and Helston ceased. Why Helston should have taken part is somewhat puzzling, but she may have been willing to help a pair of old friends against that ”grove of eagles.” At any rate the three towns were unable to accomplish anything further, and could only look on with glum faces while Falmouth went ahead. Greatly to their indignation Charles II., who remembered what good friends the Killigrews had been to him and his father, granted it a charter in 1661. As soon as they thought it would be safe, the Mayor of Truro a.s.serted his claim to jurisdiction over the port and harbour of Falmouth, by sailing round the harbour to the Black Rock.

According to local rhyme, however, the settlers in their new town were not lacking in st.u.r.diness:

”_Old Penrynners up in a tree Looking as wisht as wisht can be, Falmouth boys as strong as oak Knocked 'em down at every poke._”

So the burgesses of Falmouth took the matter before the courts and succeeded in establis.h.i.+ng the claim of their town to a free control over the waters of its harbour.

THE GENERAL POST OFFICE AND FALMOUTH

In spite of the Killigrews, however, Falmouth remained small and insignificant until the General Post Office chose the port in 1688 as a station for its newly established mail boats. The next few years was the time of its greatest prosperity, and Flus.h.i.+ng--the other side of Penryn Creek, and said to be so named from a colony of Dutch merchants--became its fas.h.i.+onable suburb. Travellers came from all parts of England to embark at this port, wars.h.i.+ps were stationed here, and the wives of naval officers and others made it their home. The stir and bustle of life has, however, departed with the service that created it; and the fine harbour now only rocks on its broad bosom some little cargo steamers and a fleet of fis.h.i.+ng-boats. Arwenack House, said by some to have been burnt by Sir Peter Killigrew in order that it should not enable the Parliamentarians under cover of its walls to attack Pendennis, was never rebuilt in its former splendour, and the ground that once const.i.tuted its park is now laid out in town plots. Portions of the old building are, however, still to be seen in Arwenack Street.

PENRYN

At the head of the creek is Falmouth's ancient rival, the town of Penryn. A Killigrew and his wife--strong men are sometimes gey ill to live with--fell out and the dame, being divorced, sought refuge in Penryn. The Mayor of this place still has in his possession a silver cup and cover given to the borough by this lady. On it is the inscription: ”1633.--From Maior to Maior, to the Towne of Penmarin, when they received mee that was in great misery.--Jane Killygrew.”

Penryn, still busy at its wharves with the exporting of granite, is the site of Glasney College, where most of the old miracle plays performed at the various plan-an-guares throughout the county were written. But the main industry of the Roseland towns and villages is connected with mines and quarries, the acme of arid desolation and dreariness being reached at Gwennap. The mines there are of great depth, have been worked for centuries, have produced in tin and copper during the last hundred years at least ten million pounds sterling, and are now all abandoned.

Imagine the grey wilderness of stone and rubble, of old workings and knacked bals. It rivals the sterility of the Black Country, but that is teeming, while here in very truth is nothing but a littered and abandoned waste.

THE FAL

Between Falmouth, which, as Byron said, ”contains many quakers and salt fish,” and Truro lies the lovely wooded estuary of the Fal. Once navigable to Tregony, large boats can now only go as far as Ruan Lanihorne. At the latter place the river meets the tide. After pa.s.sing Tregothnan (Lord Falmouth's seat) it joins the St. Clement and Truro Creeks, and finally, after forming by its twists and turns a series of land-locked lakes of surpa.s.sing beauty, it broadens into that fine sheet of water which is known as Carrick Roads. The way to see it properly is to hire a suitable row-boat, stock it with provisions, and go up the silent reaches till you discover some flat brown rock. There boil a kettle gipsy-fas.h.i.+on and linger or go on, as the fancy takes you, up this creek or that--they are equally beautiful--and so winding in and out come at last to the capital city.

Queen Victoria, whose footsteps along the south of Cornwall can be traced by various bra.s.s plates, was delighted with it. ”We went up the Truro, which is beautiful, winding between banks entirely wooded with stunted oak, and full of numberless creeks. The prettiest are King Harry's Ferry and a spot near Tregothnan (_i.e._, Feock), where there is a beautiful little boat-house.”

THE STANNARY COURTS

When Richard, King of the Romans, was created Earl of Cornwall, he, to encourage the working of the mines--which brought him revenue--granted the tinners a charter. By this, except in cases that might affect lands, life, or limb, they were exempt from all jurisdiction but that of the Stannary Courts. No laws were to be enacted but by the twenty-four stannators chosen from the four stannary districts; and there was no appeal from the Stannary Court, generally held at Truro, except to the Duke or Sovereign in Council. These laws were concerned with maintaining the purity of the tin, which was tested by cutting off a coign (corner) and stamping the freshly exposed surface. The towns privileged to perform this and collect the dues payable to the earldom (later duchy) were called ”coinage towns.” It is said that some of their laws were sufficiently grim, as for instance that which compelled an adulterator of tin to swallow three spoonfuls of the molten metal. The last Stannary Parliament was held at Truro in 1752, the courts being finally abolished in 1897.

OLD TRURO

Truro was the town in which many of the local gentry spent the winter.

This custom of the counties, if it made for insularity rather than a cosmopolitan culture, has given many of our old market-places, round the square of which the commodious homes were built, an air of quiet dignity. The gentry themselves, old people at their cards and supper-parties, young people at their routs and b.a.l.l.s, must have found it more enjoyable--all friends and neighbours and very often connections--than the present-day fas.h.i.+on of a dip into the whirlpool of London.

Truro is a cathedral city, with a brand new cathedral, which some have been found able to admire, but about which the note struck is generally apologetic. The old houses are empty, simplicity has become complexity, and the local gentry, those that are left, go up to town ”for the season.” Yet these changes have taken place within the memory of man, and there are those who can talk of the old state of affairs. Life was even more a matter of compromise then than now. People lived simply and did not exact a high standard of comfort. Not even in Boscawen Street was gas or water laid on, but in the midst thereof was a pump, and thither came the pretty serving la.s.ses to fill their red earthenware pitchers. Monday then, as now, was was.h.i.+ng day, and in one G.o.dly household of which I wot the maids went early to bed on a Sunday night that as soon as midnight struck they might go forth and bring in enough of the precious fluid to fill tubs and coppers against the morn. It was believed that otherwise what with the compet.i.tion of all the other maids in Boscawen Street, they would not be able to obtain a sufficiency. In those days sanitary arrangements were of the simplest and healthiest description, and as for baths--well, there was the wooden tub, big, round, and two-handled, the wooden tub and Sat.u.r.day night!

FOOTE AND LOWRY

In households such as this were born Foote, the comedian, in 1721, and Lowry, Cornwall's greatest poet, in 1867. Of the former we have the story that when a wealthy man gave him a very small gla.s.s of wine, at the same time boasting of its age and quality, he, glancing at it, remarked, ”My lord, surely it is very little for its age?” Of Lowry we have no humorous stories. Cornwall has not produced many great men--some gallant soldiers; in Sir Humphrey Davy a man of science; the painter Opie; and in Lowry, as every one must acknowledge who has read ”The Hundred Windows,” a poet! It will be a distinct loss to the nation if, in the hurly-burly of modern life, the clear true note of this Cornish singer should be lost.

<script>