THE VICAR OF MORWENSTOW BEING A LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER, M.A. ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER THE VICAR OF MORWENSTOW BEING A LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER, M.A. BY S. BARING-GOULD, M.A. NEW AND REVISED EDITION METHUEN & CO. 36 ESSEX STREET, W.C. LONDON 1899 Homme Strange, original et supeiieur, mais qui, des 1'enfance, portait en soi un germe de folie, et qui a la fin devint fou tout a fait ; esprit admirable et mal e'quilibr^, en qui les sensations, les Emotions et les images e'taient trop fortes ; a la fois aveugle et perspicace, veritable poete et poete malade, qui au lieu des choses, voyait ses reves, vivait dans un roman et mourut sous le cauchemar qu'il s'e"tait forge ; incapable de se mattriser et de se conduire, prenant ses resolutions pour des actes, ses vellelte's pour des resolutions, et le role qu'il se donnait pour le caractere qu'il croyait avoir ; en tout disproportion^ au train courant du monde, se heurtant, se blessant, se salissant a toutes les bornes du chemin ; ayant comnu's des extravagances, des injustices, et n6anmoins gardant jusqu'au bout la sensibility delicate et profonde, I'humanke', 1'attendrissement, le don des larmes, lafacult^ d'aimer, la passion de la justice, le sentiment religieux, 1'enthousiasme, comme autant de racines vivaces ou fermente toujours la seVe gneieuse pendant que la tige et les rameaux avortent, se deferment ou se fleirissent sous 1'inclemence de 1'air. H. TAINE. CHAPTER I PAGE Birth of Mr. Hawker Dr. Hawker of Charles Church The Amended Hymn Robert S. Hawker runs away from School Boyish Pranks At Cheltenham Publishes his Tendrils At Oxford Marries The Stowe Ghost Robert Hawker and Mr. Jeune at Boscastle The Mazed Pigs Nanny Heale and the Potatoes Records of the Western Shore The Bude Mermaid Takes his Degree Comes with his Wife to Morwenstow --------i CHAPTER II Ordination The Black Pig "Gyp" Writes to the Bishop His Father appointed to Stratton He is given Morwenstow The Waldron Lantern St. Morwenna The Children of Brychan St. Modwenna of Bur- ton-on-Trent The North Cornish Coast Tintagel Stowe Sir Bevil Grenville Mr. Hawker's Dis- covery of the Grenville Letters Those that remain Antony Payne the Giant Letters of Lady Grace Of Lord Lansdown Cornish Dramatic Power Mr. Hicks of Bodmin .-..-. 20 vi CONTENTS CHAPTER III PAGE Description of Morwenstow The Anerithmon Gelasma Source of the Tamar Tonacombe Morwenstow Church Norman Chevron Moulding Chancel Altar Shooting Rubbish The Manning Bed The Yellow Poncho The Vicarage Mr. Tom Knight The Stag Robin Hood Visitors Silent Tower of Bottreaux The Pet of Boscastle 47 CHAPTER IV Mr. Hawker's Politics Election of 1857 His Zeal for the Labourers " The Poor Man and his Parish Church" Letter to a Landlord Death of his Man Tape Kindness to the Poor Verses over his Door Reckless Charity Hospitality A Breakdown His Eccentric Dress The Devil and his Barn His Ecclesiastical Vestments Ceremonial The Nine Cats The Church Garden- Kindness to Animals The Rooks and Jackdaws The Well of St. John Letter to a Young Man entering the University 78 CHAPTER V The Inhabitants of Morwenstow in 1834 Cruel Coppinger Whips the Parson of Kilkhampton Gives Tom Tape a Ride Tristam Pentire Parminter and his Dog Satan The Gauger's Pocket Wrecking The Wrecker and the Ravens The Loss of the Margaret Quail The Wreck of the Ben Coolan " A Croon on Hennacliff" Letters concerning Wrecks The Donkeys and the Copper Ore The Ship Morwenna Flotsam and Jetsam Wrecks on I4th Nov., 1875 Bodies in Poundstock Church The Loss of the Caledonia The Wreck of the Phoenix and of the ,.....--- 105 CONTENTS vii CHAPTER VI PAGE Wellcombe Mr. Hawker Postman to Wellcombe The Miss Kitties Advertisement of Roger Giles Super- stitionsThe Evil Eye The Spiritual Ether The Vicar's Pigs Bewitched Horse killed by a Witch He finds a lost Hen A Lecture against Witchcraft Its Failure An Encounter with the Pixies Curious Picture of a Pixie Revel The Fairy Ring Antony Cleverdon and the Mermaids - 148 CHAPTER VII. Condition of the Church last Century Parson Radford The Death of a Pluralist Opposition Mr. Hawker met with The Bryanites Hunting the Devil Bill Martin's Prayer-meeting Mr. Pengelly and the Candle-end Cheated by a Tramp Mr. Hawker and the Dissenters Mr. B 's Pew A Special Provi- dence over the Church His Prayer when threatened with the Loss of St. John's Well Objection to Hysterical Religion Mr. Vincent's Hat Regard felt for him by old Pupils "He did not Appreciate Me" Modryb Marya A Parable A Carol Love of Children Angels A Sermon, " Here am I " - - 167 CHAPTER VIII The Vicar of Morwenstow as a Poet His Epigrams The " Carol of the Pruss " " Down with the Church " The "Quest of the Sangreal "Editions of his Poems Ballads The " Song of the Western Men " The "Cornish Mother's Lament" "A Thought" Churchyards -------- 302 CHAPTER IX Restoration of Morwenstow Church The Shingle Roof The First Ruridecanal Synod The Weekly Offer- viii CONTENTS PAGE tory Correspondence with Mr. Walter On Alms Harvest Thanksgiving The School Mr. Hawker belonged to no Party His Eastern Proclivities Theological Ideas Baptism Original Sin The Eucharist His Preaching Some Sermons - - 218 CHAPTER X The First Mrs. Hawker Her Influence over her Husband Anxiety about her Health His Fits of Depression Letter on the Death of Sir Thomas Acland Reads Novels to his Wife His Visions Mysticism Death of his Wife Unhappy Condition Burning of his Papers Meets with his Second Wife The Unburied Dead Birth of his Child Ruinous Condition of his Church Goes to London Resumes Opium-eating Sickness Goes to Boscastle To Plymouth His Death and Funeral Conclusion - 241 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER CHAPTER I Birth of Mr. "Hawker Dr. Hawker of Charles Church The Amended Hymn Robert S. Hawker runs away from School Boyish Pranks At Cheltenham Publishes his Tendrils At Oxford Marries The Stowe Ghost Robert Hawker and Mr. Jeune at Boscastle The Mazed Pigs Nanny Heale and the Potatoes Records of the Western Shore The Bude Mermaid Takes his Degree Comes with his Wife to Morwenstow. R3BERT STEPHEN HAWKER was born at Stoke Damerel on 3rd December, 1804, and was baptised there in the parish church. His father, Mr. Jacob Stephen Hawker, was at that time a medical man, practising at Plymouth. He after- wards was ordained to Altarnun, and spent thirty years as curate and then vicar of Stratton in Corn- wall, where he died in 1845. Mr. J. S. Hawker was the son of the famous Dr. Hawker, incumbent of Charles Church in Plymouth, author of Morning and Evening Portions, a man as remarkable for his abilities as he was for his piety. Young Robert was committed to his grandfather to be educated. The doctor, after the death of his 1 2 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER wife, lived in Plymouth with his daughter, a widow, Mrs. Hodgson, at whose expense Robert was edu- cated. The profuse generosity, the deep religiousness, and the eccentricity of the doctor, had their effect on the boy, and traced in his opening mind and forming character deep lines, which were never effaced. Dr. Hawker had a heart always open to appeals of poverty, and in his kindness he believed every story of distress which was told him, and hastened to relieve it without inquiring closely whether it were true or not ; nor did he stop to consider whether his own pocket could afford the generosity to which his heart prompted him. His wife, as long as she lived, found it a difficult matter to keep house. In winter, if he came across a poor family without sufficient coverings on their beds, he would speed home, pull the blankets off his own bed, and run with them over his arm to the house where they were needed. He had an immense following of pious ladies, who were sometimes troublesome to him. " I see what it is," said the doctor in one of his sermons: "you ladies think to reach heaven by hanging on to my coat-tails. I will trounce you all : I will wear a spencer." In Charles Church the evening service always closed with the singing of the hymn, " Lord, dismiss us with Thy blessing," composed by Dr. Hawker himself. His grandson did not know the authorship of the hymn : he came to the doctor one day with a paper in his hand, and said : " Grandfather, I don't altogether like that hymn, ' Lord, disjniss us with THE AMENDED HYMN 3 Thy blessing ' : I think it might be improved in metre and language, and would be better if made somewhat longer ". "Oh, indeed 1 " said Dr. Hawker, getting red; "and pray, Robert, what emendations commend themselves to your precocious wisdom ? " " This is my improved version," said the boy, and read as follows : ' Lord, dismiss us with Thy blessing, High and low, and rich and poor : May we all, Thy fear possessing, Go in peace, and sin no more 1 Lord, requite not as we merit ; Thy displeasure all must fear : As of old, so let Thy Spirit Still the dove's resemblance bear. May that Spirit dwell within us ! May its love our refuge be ! So shall no temptation win us From the path that leads to Thee. So when these our lips shall wither, So when fails each earthly tone, May we sing once more together Hymns of glory round Thy throne ! ' " Now, listen to the old version, grandfather : ' Lord, dismiss us with Thy blessing ; Fill our hearts with joy and peace ; Let us each Thy love possessing, Triumph in redeeming grace. Oh, refresh us, Travelling through this wilderness ! 4 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER Thanks we give, and adoration, For the Gospel's joyous sound ; May the founts of Thy salvation In our hearts and lives abound ! May Thy presence With us evermore be found 1 ' "This one is crude and flat; don't you think so, grandfather?" " Crude and flat, sir ! Young puppy, it is mine ! I wrote that hymn." " Oh ! I beg your pardon, grandfather ; I did not know that : it is a very nice hymn indeed ; but but grace is a bad rhyme for peace, and one naturally wishes to put grease in its place. Your hymn may be good " and, as he went out of the door " but mine is better." Robert was sent to a boarding-school by his grand- father; where, I do not know, nor does it much matter, for he stayed there only one night. He arrived in the evening, and was delivered over by the doctor to a very godly but close-fisted master. Robert did not approve of being sent supperless to bed, still less did he approve of the bed and bedroom in which he was placed. Next morning the dominie was shaving at his window, when he saw his pupil, with his portmanteau on his back, striding across the lawn, with reckless indifference to the flower-beds, singing at the top of his voice, " Lord, dismiss us with Thy blessing." He shouted after him from the window, but Robert was deaf. The boy flung his portmanteau over the hedge, jumped after it, and was seen no more at that school. He was then put with the Rev. Mr. Laffer, at BOYISH PRANKS 5 Liskeard. Mr. Laffer was the son of a yeoman at Altarnun : he afterwards became incumbent of St. Gennys. At this time he was head master of the Liskeard Grammar .School. There Robert Hawker was happy. He spent his holidays either with his father at Stratton, or with his grandfather and aunt at Plymouth. At Stratton he was the torment of an old fellow who kept a shop in High Street, where he sold groceries, crockery and drapery. One day he slipped into the house when the old man was out, and found a piece of mutton roasting before the fire. Robert took it off the crook, hung it up in the shop, and placed a bundle of dips before the fire, to roast in its place. He would dive into the shop, catch hold of the end of thread that curled out of the tin in which the shopkeeper kept the ball of twine with which he tied up his parcels, and race with it in his hand down the street, then up a lane and down another, till he had uncoiled it all, and laced Stratton in a cobweb of twine, tripping up people as they went along the streets. The old fellow had not the wits to cut the thread, but held on like grim death to the tin, whilst the ball bounced and uncoiled within it, swearing at the plague of a boy, and wishing him " back to skule again." " I doan't care whether I ring the bells on the king's birthday," said the parish clerk, another victim of the boy's pranks ; " but if I never touch the ropes again, I'll give a peal when Robert goes to skule, and leaves Stratton folks in peace." As may well be believed, the mischievous, high- spirited boy played tricks on his brothers and sisters. 6 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER The clerk was accustomed to read in church, " I am an alien unto my mother's children," pronouncing "alien" as "a lion." "Ah!" said Mrs. Hawker, " that means Robert : he is verily a lion unto his mother's children." " I do not know how it is," said his brother one day : " when I go out with Robert nutting, he gets all the nuts ; and when I go out rabbiting, he gets all the rabbits ; and when we go out fishing together, he catches all the fish." " Come with me fishing to-morrow, Claud," said Robert, " and see if you don't have luck." Next day he surreptitiously fastened a red herring to his brother's hook, playing on his brother the trick Cleopatra had played on Anthony ; and, when it was drawn out of the water, "There!" exclaimed Robert, "you are twice as lucky as I am. My fish are all raw ; and yours is ready cleaned, smoked and salted." The old vicarage at Stratton is now pulled down : it stood at the east end of the chancel, and the garden has been thrown into the burial-ground. At Stratton he got one night into the stable of the surgeon, hogged the mane, and painted the coat of his horse like a zebra with white and black oil paint. Then he sent a message to the doctor, as if from a great house at a distance, requiring his immediate attendance. The doctor was obliged to saddle and gallop off the horse in the condition in which he found it, thinking that there was not time for him to stay till the coat was cleaned of paint. His pranks at Plymouth led at last to his grand- father refusing to have him any longer in his house. THE OLD LADIES 7 Robert held in aversion the good pious ladies, who swarmed round the doctor. It was the time of sedan- chairs ; and trains of old spinsters and dowagers were wont to fill the street in their boxes between bearers, on the occasion of missionary teas, Dorcas meetings, and private expositions of the Word. Robert used to open the house door, and make a sign to the bearers to stop. A row of a dozen or more sedans were thus arrested in the street. Then the boy would go to each sedan in order, open the window, and, thrusting his head in, kiss the fair but venerable occupant, and then start back in mock dismay, ex- claiming: "A thousand pardons! I thought you were my mother. I am sorry. How could I have made such a mistake, you are so much older ? " Sometimes, with the gravest face, he would tell the bearers that the lady was to be conveyed to the Dockyard, or the Arsenal, or to the Hoe ; and she would find herself deposited among anchors and ropes, or cannon-balls, or on the windy height over- looking the bay, instead of at the doctor's door. Two old ladies, spinster sisters, Robert believed were setting their caps at the doctor, then a widower. He took an inveterate dislike to them, and their in- sinuating, oily manner with his grandfather ; and he worried them out of Plymouth. He did it thus. One day he called on a certain leading physician in Plymouth, and told him that Miss Hephzibah Jenkins had slipped on a piece of orange peel, broken her leg, and needed his instant attention. He arrived out of breath with running, very red ; and, it being known that the Misses 8 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER Jenkins were intimate friends of Dr. Hawker, the physician went off at once to the lady, with splints and bandages. Next day another medical man was sent to see Miss Sidonia Jenkins. Every day a fresh surgeon or physician arrived to bind up legs and arms and heads, or revive the ladies from extreme prostration, pleurisy, inflammation of the lungs, heart-complaint, etc., till every medical man in Plymouth, Stonehouse and Devonport had been to the house of the spinsters. When these were exhausted, an undertaker was sent to measure the old ladies for their coffins ; and next day a hearse drew up at their door to convey them to their graves, which had been dug according to order in the St. Andrew's churchyard. This was more than the ladies could bear. They shut up the house and left Plymouth. But this was also the end of Robert's stay with his grandfather. The good doctor had endured a great deal, but he would not put up with this ; and Robert was sent to Stratton, to his father. When the boy left school at Liskeard, he was articled to a lawyer, Mr. Jacobson, at Plymouth, a wealthy man in good practice, first cousin to his mother ; but this sort of profession did not at all approve itself to Robert's taste, and he remained with Mr. Jacobson a few months only. Whether he then turned his thoughts towards going into holy orders, cannot be told ; but he persuaded his aunt, Mrs. Hodgson, to send him to Cheltenham Grammar School. The boy had great abilities, and a passionate love AT OXFORD 9 of books, but wanted application. He read a great deal, but his reading was desultory. He was, how- ever, a good classic scholar. To mathematics he took a positive dislike, and never could master a proposition in Euclid. At Cheltenham he wrote some poems, and published them in a little book entitled Tendrils, by Reuben. They appeared in 1821, when he was seventeen years old. From Cheltenham, Robert S. Hawker went to Oxford, 1823, and entered at Pembroke ; but his father was only a poor curate, and unable to main- tain him at the university. Robert was determined to finish his course there. He could not command the purse of his aunt, Mrs. Hodgson, who was dead-j and when he retired to Stratton for his long vacation in 1824, his father told him that it was impossible for him to send him back to the university. But Robert Hawker had made up his mind that finish his career at college he would. The difficulty was got over in a manner somewhat novel. There lived at Whitstone, near Holsworthy, four Miss Tans, daughters of Colonel Fans. They had been left with an annuity of 200 apiece, as well as lands and a handsome place. At the time when Mr. Jacob Hawker announced to his son that a return to Oxford was impossible, the four ladies were at Efford, near Bude, an old manor house leased from Sir Thomas Acland. Directly that Robert Hawker learnt his father's decision, without waiting to put on his hat, he ran from Stratton to Bude, arrived hot and blown at Efford, and proposed to Miss Charlotte Fans to become his wife. The 10 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER lady was then aged forty-one, one year older than his mother ; she was his godmother, and had taught him his letters. Miss Charlotte I'ans accepted him ; and they were married in November, when he was twenty. Robert S. Hawker and his wife spent their honeymoon at Morwenstow, in Combe Cottage. During that time he was visited by Sir William Call and his brother George. They dined with him, and told ghost- stories. Sir William professed his utter disbelief in spectral appearances, in spite of the most convincing, properly authenticated cases adduced by Mr. Hawker. It was late when the two gentlemen rose to leave. Their course lay down the steep hill by old Stowe. The moment that they were gone Robert got a sheet and an old iron spoon which he had dug up in the garden, and which bore on it the date 1702. He slipped a tinder-box and a bottle of choice brandy, which had belonged to Colonel Fans, into his pocket, and ran by a short cut to a spot where the road was overshadowed by trees, at the bottom of the Stowe hill, which he knew the two young men must pass. He had time to throw the sheet over himself, strike a light, fill the great iron spoon with salt and brandy, and ignite it, before Sir William and his brother came up. In the dense darkness of the wood, beside the road, they suddenly saw a ghastly figure, illumined by a lambent blue flame which danced in the air before it. They stood rooted to the spot, petrified with fear. Slowly the apparition stole towards them. They were too frightened to cry out and run. Sud- denly, with an unearthly howl, the spectre plunged THE STOWE GHOST 11 something metallic into the breast of Sir William Call's yellow nankeen waistcoat, the livid flame fell around him in drops, and all vanished. When he came to himself Sir William found an iron spoon in his bosom. He and his brother, much alarmed, and not knowing what to think of what they had seen, returned to Combe. They knocked at the door. Hawker put his head with nightcap on out of the bedroom-window and asked who were disturbing his rest. They begged to be admitted : they had something of importance to communicate. He came down stairs in a dressing-gown, and intro- duced them to his parlour. There the iron spoon was examined. " It is very ancient," said Sir William : " the date on it is 1702 just the time when Stowe was pulled down." " It smells very strong of brandy," said George Call. Robert Hawker's twinkling eye and twitching mouth revealed the rest. "Ton my word," said Sir William Call, "you nearly killed me ; and, what is more serious, nearly made me believe in spirits." " Ah ! " added Robert dryly, " you probably did believe in them when they ran in a river of flame over your yellow nankeen waistcoat." The marriage with Charlotte Fans took place on 6th November, 1824. On Hawker's return to Oxford with his wife after the Christmas vacation (and he took her there, riding behind him on a pillion), he was obliged, on account of being married, to migrate from Pembroke to Magdalen Hall. About this time 12 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER he made acquaintance with Jeune and Jacobson, the former afterwards Bishop of Peterborough, the latter Bishop of Chester. Jeune, and afterwards Jacobson, came down into Cornwall to pay him a visit in the long vacation of 1825 ; and Mr. Jeune acted as groomsman at the marriage of Miss Hawker to Mr. Kingdon. It was on the occasion of this visit of Mr. Jeune to Robert Hawker that they went over together to Boscastle, and there performed the prank described in Footprints of Former Men in Cornwall. The two young men put up in the little inn of Joan Treworgy, entitled The Ship. The inn still exists ; but it is rebuilt, and has become more magnificent in its accommodation and charges. " We proceeded to confer about beds for the night, and, not without misgivings, inquired if she could supply a couple of those indispensable places of repose. A demur ensued. All the gentry in the town, she declared, were accustomed to sleep two in a bed ; and the officers that travelled the country, and stopped at her house, would mostly do the same : but, however, if we commanded two beds for only two people, two we must have ; only, although they were both in the same room, we must certainly pay for two, and sixpence apiece was her regular price. We assented, and then went on to entreat that we might dine. She graciously agreed ; but to all questions as to our fare her sole response was, ' Meat meat and taties. Some call 'em,' she added, in a scornful tone, ' purtaties ; but we always says taties here.' The specific differences between beef, mutton, veal, etc., seemed to be utterly or artfully ignored ; THE MYSTERIOUS DINNER 13 and to every frenzied inquiry her calm, inexorable reply was, ' Meat nice wholesome meat and taties.' " In due time we sat down in that happy ignorance as to the nature of our viands which a French cook is said to desire ; and, although we both made a not unsatisfactory meal, it is a wretched truth that by no effort could we ascertain what it was that was roasted for us that day by widow Treworgy, and which we consumed. Was it a piece of Boscastle baby ? as I suggested to my companion. The question caused him to rush out to inquire again ; but he came back baffled and shouting, ' Meat and taties.' There was not a vestige of bone, nor any outline that could indentify the joint ; and the not unsavoury taste was something like tender veal. It was not till years afterwards that light was thrown on our mysterious dinner that day by a passage which I accidently turned up in an ancient history of Cornwall. Therein I read, ' that the silly people of Bouscastle and Boussiney do catch in the summer seas divers young soyles (seals), which, doubtful if they be fish or flesh, conynge housewives will nevertheless roast, and do make thereof savory meat.' " Very early next morning, before any one else was awake, Hawker and Jeune left the inn, and, going to all the pig-sties of the place, released their occupants. They then stole back to their beds. " We fastened the door, and listened for results. The outcries and yells were fearful. By-and-by human voices began to mingle with the tumult : there were shouts of inquiry and surprise, then sounds of expostulation and entreaty, and again ' a storm of 14 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER hate and wrath and wakening fear.' At last the tumult reached the ears of our hostess, Joan Treworgy. We heard her puff and blow, and call for Jim. At last, after waiting a prudent time, we thought it best to call aloud for shaving-water, and to inquire with astonishment into the cause of that horrible dis- turbance which had roused us from our morning sleep. This brought the widow in hot haste to our door. ' Why, they do say, captain,' was her doleful response, ' that all the pegs up-town have a-rebelled, and they've a-been, and let one the wother out, and they be all a-gwain to sea, hug-a-mug, bang ! ' ' Some years after, when Mr. Jeune was Dean of Magdalen Hall, Mr. Hawker went up to take his M.A. degree. The dean on that occasion was, according to custom, leading a gentleman-commoner of the same college, a very corpulent man, to the vice-chancellor, to present him for his degree, with a Latin speech. Hawker was waiting his turn. The place was crowded, and the fat gentleman-commoner was got with difficulty through the throng to the place. Hawker leaned towards the dean as he was leading and endeavouring to guide this unwieldy candidate, who hung back, and got hitched in the crowd, and said in a low tone : " Why, your peg's surely mazed, maister." When the crowd gave way, and the dean reached the vice-chancellor's chair, he was in spasms of uncontrollable laughter. At Oxford Mr. Robert Hawker made acquaintance with Macbride, afterwards head of the college ; and the friendship lasted through life. NANNY HEALE'S CROCK 15 In after years, when Jeune, Jacobson and Mac- bride were heads of colleges, Robert S. Hawker went up to Oxford in his cassock and gown. The cassock was then not worn, as it sometimes is now, except by heads of colleges and professors. Mr. Hawker was therefore singular in his cassock. He was outside St. Mary's one day, with Drs. Jeune, Jacob- son and Macbride, when a friend, looking at him in his gown and cassock, said : " Why, Hawker, one would think you wanted to be taken for a head." " About the last thing I should like to be taken for, as heads go," was his ready reply, with a roguish glance at his three companions. Mr. Hawker has related another of his mischievous tricks when an undergraduate. There was a poor old woman named Nanny Heale, who passed for a witch. Her cottage was an old decayed hut, roofed with turf. One night Robert Hawker got on the roof, and looking down the chimney, saw her crouching over her turf fire, watching with dim eyes an iron crock, or round vessel, filled with potatoes, that were simmering in the heat. This utensil was suspended by its swing handle to an iron bar that went across the chimney. Hawker let a rope, with an iron hook at the end, slowly and noiselessly down the chimney, and, unnoted by poor Nanny's blinking sight, caught the handle of the caldron ; and it, with its mealy contents, began to ascend the chimney slowly and majestically. Nanny, thoroughly aroused by this unnatural pro- ceeding of her old iron vessel, peered despairingly after it, and shouted at the top of her voice : 16 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER " Massy 'pon my sinful soul ! art gawn off taties and all ? " The vessel was quietly grasped, and carried down in hot haste, and planted upright outside the cottage door. A knock, given on purpose, summoned the inmate, who hurried out, and stumbled over, as she afterwards interpreted the event, her penitent crock. " So, then," was her joyful greeting, " so, then ! theer't come back to holt, then ! Ay, 'tis a-cold out o' doors." Good came out of evil : for her story, which she rehearsed again and again, with all the energy and persuasion of truth, reached the ears of the parochial authorities ; and they, thinking that old Nanny's wits had failed her, gave an additional shilling a week to her allowance. Hawker's vacations were spent at Whitstone, or at Ivy Cottage, near Bude. At Whitstone he built himself a bark shanty in the wood, and set up a life-sized carved wooden figure, which he had procured in Oxford, at the door, to keep it. The figure he called " Moses." It has long since dis- appeared. In this hut he was wont to read. His meals were brought out there to him. His intervals of work were spent in composing ballads on Cornish legends, afterwards published at Oxford in his Records of the Western Shore, 1832. They have all been re- printed in later editions of his poems. One of these, his " Song of the Western Men," was adapted to the really ancient burden : RELIGIOUS IMPRESSIONS 17 And shall they scorn Tre, Pol and Pen, And shall Trelawny die ? Here's twenty thousand Cornish men Will know the reason why 1 These verses have so much of the antique flavour, that Sir Walter Scott, in one of his prefaces to a later edition of the Border Minstrelsy, refers to them as a "remarkable example of the lingering of the true ballad spirit in a remote district " ; and Mr. Hawker possessed a letter from Lord Macaulay in which he admitted that, until undeceived by the writer, he had always supposed the whole song to be of the time of the Bishops' trial. At Ivy Cottage he had formed for himself a perch on the edge of the cliff, where he could be alone with his books, his thoughts, and, as he would say with solemnity, "with God." Perhaps few thought then how deep were the religious impressions in the joyous heart, full of exuberant spirits, of the young Oxford student. All people knew of him was, that he was remarkable for his beauty, for his brightness of manner, his overflowing merriment, and love of playing tricks. But there was a deep undercurrent of religious feeling setting steadily in one direction, which was the main governing stream of his life. Gradually this emerges into sight, and becomes recognised. Then it was known to few except his wife and her sisters. Of this period of his life, it is chiefly his many jests which have lingered on in the recollection of his friends and relations. 2 18 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER One absurd hoax that he played on the supersti- tious people of Bude must not be omitted. At full moon in the July of 1825 or 1826, he swam or rowed out to a rock at some little distance from the shore, plaited seaweed into a wig, which he threw over his head, so that it hung in lank streamers half-way down his back, enveloped his legs in an oilskin wrap, and, otherwise naked, sat on the rock, flashing the moonbeams about from a hand-mirror, and sang and screamed till attention was arrested. Some people passing along the cliff heard and saw him, and ran into Bude, saying that a mermaid with a fish's tail was sitting on a rock, combing her hair, and singing. A number of people ran out on the rocks and along the beach, and listened awestruck to the singing and disconsolate wailing of the mermaid. Presently she dived off the rock, and disappeared. Next night crowds of people assembled to look out for the mermaid ; and in due time she reappeared, and sent the moon flashing in their faces from her glass. Telescopes were brought to bear on her ; but she sang on unmoved, braiding her tresses, and utter- ing remarkable sounds, unlike the singing of mortal throats which have been practised in do-re-mi. This went on for several nights ; the crowd grow- ing greater, people arriving from Stratton, Kilkhamp- ton, and all the villages round, till Robert Hawker got very hoarse with his nightly singing, and rather tired of sitting so long in the cold. He therefore wound up the performance one night with an unmis- takable-" God save the King," then plunged into the COMES TO MORWENSTOW 19 waves, and the mermaid never again revisited the " sounding shores of Bude." Miss Fanny Fans was a late riser. Her brother- in-law, to break her of this bad habit, was wont to throw open her window early in the morning, and turn in a troop of setters, whose barking, yelping and frantic efforts to get out of the room again, effectually banished sleep from the eyes of the fair but somewhat aged occupant. Efford Farm had been sub-let to a farmer, who broke the lease by ploughing up and growing crops on land which it had been stipulated should be kept in grass. Sir Thomas Acland behaved with great generosity in the matter. He might have reclaimed the farm without making compensation to the ladies ; but he allowed them 300 a year as long as they lived, took the farm away, and re-leased it to a more trusty tenant. Mr. Robert Stephen Hawker obtained the Newde- gate in 1827 : * he took his degree of B.A. in 1828, and then went with his wife to Morwenstow, a place for which even then he had contracted a peculiar love, and there read for holy orders. Welcome, wild rock and lonely shore 1 Where round my days dark seas shall roar, And thy grey fane, Morwenna, stand The beacon of the Eternal Land. 1 The poem, " Pompeii,' 1 has been reprinted in his Echoes of Old Corn- wall, Ecclesia, etc. CHAPTER II Ordination The Black Pig, "Gyp" Writes to the Bishop His Father appointed to Stratton He is given Morwenstow The Waddon Lan- tern St. Morwenna The Children of Brychan St. Modwenna of Burton-on-Trent The North Cornish Coast Tintagel Stowe Sir Bevil Grenville Mr. Hawker's discovery of the Grenville Letters Those that remain Antony Payne the Giant Letters of Lady Grace Of Lord Lansdown Cornish Dramatic Power Mr. Hicks of Bod- min. ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER was ordained deacon in 1829, when he was twenty-five years old, by the Bishop of Exeter, to the curacy of North Tamerton, of which the Rev. Mr. Kingdon was non-resident incumbent. He threw two cottages into one, and added a veranda and rooms, and made himself a comfortable house, which he called Trebarrow. He was ordained priest in 1831, by the Bishop of Bath and Wells. He took his M.A. degree in 1836. He had a favourite rough pony which he rode, and a black pig of Berkshire breed, well cared for, washed and curry-combed, which ran beside him when he went out for walks and paid visits. Indeed, the pig followed him into ladies' drawing-rooms, not always to their satisfaction. The pig was called Gyp, and was intelligent and obedient. If Mr. Hawker saw that those whom he visited were annoyed at the intrusion of the pig, he (20) THE CLOSING HOUR 21 would order it forth ; and the black creature slunk out of the door with its tail out of curl. It was whilst Mr. Hawker was at Tamerton that Henry Phillpotts was appointed Bishop of Exeter. There was some unpleasant feeling aroused in the diocese at the mode of his appointment ; and the bishop sent a pastoral letter to his clergy to state his intentions and explain away what caused un- pleasantness. Mr. Hawker wrote the bishop an answer of such a nature that it began a friendship which subsisted between them till the death of Dr. Phillpotts. Whilst Mr. Hawker was curate of Tam- erton, on one or two occasions the friends of the labouring dead requested that the burial hour might be that at which the deceased was accustomed " to leave work." The request touched his poetical instinct, and he wrote the lines : Sunset should be the time, they said, To close their brother's narrow bed. 'Tis at that pleasant hour of day The labourer treads his homeward way. His work is o'er, his toil is done ; And therefore at the set of sun, To wait the wages of the dead, We laid our hireling in his bed. In 1834 died the non-resident vicar of Stratton, and the Bishop of Exeter offered to obtain the living for Mr. Robert Stephen Hawker ; but he refused it, as his father was curate of Stratton, and he felt how unbecoming it would be for him to assume the position of vicar where his father had been, and still was, curate. In his letter to the bishop he urged his 22 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER father's long service at Stratton ; and Dr. Phillpotts, at his request, obtained the presentation for Mr. Jacob Stephen Hawker to the vicarage of Stratton. The very next piece of preferment that fell vacant was Morwenstow, whose vicar, the Rev. Mr. Young, died in 1834. Mr. Young had been non-resident, and had lived at Torrington, the parish being served by a succession of curates, some of them also non- resident. The vicarage house, which stood west of the tower near a gate out of the churchyard, was let to the clerk, and inhabited by him and his wife. The first curate was Mr. Badcock, who lived at Week St. Mary, some fourteen miles distant. He rode over for Sunday duty. Next came a M. Savant, a Frenchman ordained deacon in the English Church, but never priest. He was a dapper dandy, very careful of his ecclesiastical costume, in knee-breeches and black silk stockings. He lodged at Marsland. Parson Davis of Kilkhampton came over to Mor- wenstow to celebrate the holy communion. The Frenchman was succeeded by Mr. Bryant, who lived at Flexbury, in the parish of Poughill ; the next to him was Mr. Thomas, a man who ingratiated himself with the farmers a cheery person, fond of a good story, and interested in husbandry, " but not much of the clerical in him," as an old Morwenstow man des- cribes him. Whilst Mr. Thomas was curate, the vicar, Parson Young, died. A petition from the farmers and householders of Morwenstow to the bishop was got up, to request him to appoint Mr. Thomas. The curate, so runs the tale, went to Exeter to present the paper with their signatures, and urge his claims in person. IS GIVEN MORWENSTOW 23 " My lord," said he, " the Dissenters have all signed the petition : they are all in favour of me. Not one has declined to attach his name ; even the Wesleyan minister wishes to see me vicar of Mor- wenstow." " Then, my good sir," said Dr. Phillpotts, " it is very clear that you are not the man for me. I wish you a good-morning." And he wrote off to Robert Stephen Hawker, offering him the incumbency of Morwenstow. There was probably not a living in the whole diocese, perhaps not one in England, which could have been more acceptable to Mr. Hawker. As his sister tells me, " Robert always loved Morwenstow : from a boy he loved it, and, when he could, went to live there." He at once accepted the preferment, and went into residence. There had not been a resident vicar since the Rev. Oliver Rose*, 1 who lived at Eastaway, in the parish. This Rev. Oliver Rose had a brother- in-law, Mr. Edward Waddon of Stanbury ; and the cronies used to meet and dine alternately at each other's house. As they grew merry over their port, the old gentlemen uproariously applauded any novel joke or story by rattling their glasses on the table. Having laughed at each other's venerable anecdotes for the last twenty years, the introduction of a new tale or witticism was hailed with the utmost enthusi- asm. This enthusiasm reached such a pitch, that, 1 Throughout this memoir, wherever an asterisk accompanies a name it is for the purpose of showing that the real name has not been given, either at the request of descendants, or because relatives are still alive. 24 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER in their applause of each other's sallies, they occa- sionally broke their wine-glasses. The vicar of Morwenstow, when Mr. Waddon snapped off the foot of his glass, would put the foot and a fragment in his pocket, and treasure it ; for each wine-glass broken was to him a testimony to the brilliancy of his jokes, and also a reminder to him of them for future use. In time he had accumulated a considerable number of broken wine-glasses, and he had them fitted to- gether to form an enormous lantern ; and thenceforth, when he went to dine at Stanbury, this testimony to his triumphs was borne lighted before him. The lantern fell into the hands of Mr. Hawker, and he presented it to the lineal descendant of Mr. E. Waddon, as a family relic. It is still in existence, and duly honoured. It is of oak, with the fragments of wine-glasses let in with great ingenuity in the patterns of keys, hearts, etc., about the roof, the sides being composed of the circular feet of the glasses. On looking at the map of Cornwall, one is surprised to see it studded with the names of saints, of whom one knows nothing, and these names of a peculiarly un-English sound. The fact is, that Cornwall was, like Ireland, a land of saints in the fifth and sixth centuries. These were either native Cornish, or were Irish or Welsh saints who migrated thither to seek on the desolate moors or wild, uninhabited coasts of Cornwall, solitary places, where they might live to God, and fight demons, like the hermits of Egypt. Cornwall was the Thebaid of the Welsh. Little or nothing is known of the vast majority ST. MORWENNA 25 of these saints. They have left their names and their cells and holy-wells behind them, but nothing more. They had their lodges in the wilderness, Or built their cells beside the shadowy sea ; And there they dwelt with angels like a dream. So they unclosed the volume of the Book, And filled the fields of the Evangelist With thoughts as sweet as flowers ! l The legends of a few local saints survive, but of very few. Such is that of St. Melor " with the golden hand," probably some old British deity who has bequeathed his myth to an historical personage. St. Padarn, St. Cadoc, St. Petrock, have their histories well known, as they belong to Wales. But there are other saints, emigrants from Wales, who settled on the north-west coast, of whom but little is known. What little can be collected concerning St. Mor- wenna, who had her cell at Morwenstow, I proceed to give. In the fifth century there lived in Brecknock an Irish invader, Brychan by name, who died in 450. According to Welsh accounts, he had twenty-four sons and twenty-five daughters, in all forty-nine children. Statements, however, vary, of which this is the largest. The smallest number attributed to him is twenty-four ; and, as his grandchildren may have been 'included in the longer list, this may ac- count for the discrepancy. He is said to have had three wives Ewrbrawst, Rhybrawst and Peresgri 1 "The Cornish Fathers," in Mr. Hawker's Echoes of Old Cornwall, 1846. 26 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER though it is not said that they were living at the sam time. The fact seems to have been that all the Hy Brychan or family are regarded as brothers and sisters. The names of the sons and daughters and grand- children of Brychan are given in the Cognacio Brychani, and in the Bonnedd-y-Saint ; and a critical examination of the lists is given by Dr. Rees in his Essay on the Welsh Saints, In the " Young Woman's Window " at St. Neots, near Liskeard, in Cornwall, is fifteenth-century glass, which represents Brychan with his offspring, twenty-four in number, all of whom have been confessors or martyrs in Devon and Cornwall. The following are named : I. St. John, or Ive, who gave his name to the Church of St. Ive ; 2. Endelient, who gave his name to Ende- lion ; 3. Menfre, to St. Miniver ; 4. Teth, to St. Teath ; 5. Mabina, to St. Mabyn ; 6. Merewenna, to Marham Church near Bude ; 7. Wenna, to St. Wenn ; 8. Yse, to St. Issey ; 9. Morwenna, to Morwenstow; 10. Cleder, to St. Clether; n. Kerie, to Egloskerry ; 12. Helic, to Egloshayle ; 13. Adwen, to Advent ; 14. Lanent, to Lelant. Leland, in his Itinerary, adds Nectan, Dilic, Wensenna, Wessen, Juliana, 1 Wymp, Wenheder, Jona, Kananc, and Kerhender. A few, but not many of these can be identified with those attributed to Brychan by the Welsh genealogists. Morwenna is most probably the Welsh Mwynen, in Latin Monyina, daughter of Brynach Wyddel by Corth, one of the daughters of 1 St. Juliot, who has left her name near Boscastle. FAMILY OF BRYCHAN 27 Brychan ; and her sisters Gwennan and Gwenlliu are probably the Wenna and Wenheder of Leland's list. St. Morwenna was therefore apparently the grand- daughter of Brychan. Her father, Brynach Wyddel, is the St. Branock of Braunton near Ilfracombe. He also founded churches in Carmarthen and Pem- broke. In Cornwall, as in Wales, churches were called after the saints who founded cells there. Morwenna, we may safely conclude, like so many of her brothers, sisters, cousins, uncles and aunts, migrated to Corn- wall. St. Nectan, who may have been her brother, and who certainly was a near relation, established himself, we may conjecture, at St. Neighton's Kieve, at which time probably Morwenna had her cell at Marham Church. St. Nectan afterwards established himself on Hartland Point from which, in clear weather, and before a storm, the distant coast of his native Wales was visible ; and perhaps at the same time Morwenna erected her cell on the cliff above the Atlantic, which has since borne her name. There she died. Leland, in his Collectanea, quoting an ancient MS. book of places where the bodies of saints rest, says that St. Morwenna lies at Morwen- stow : " In villa, quae Modwenstow dicitur, S. Mud- wenna quiescit." It will be seen from this extract that Leland confounded Morwenna with Modwenna; and Mr. Hawker, following Leland and Butler, did the same. In the year before he died I had a correspondence with him on this point. 28 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER There exists a late life of St. Modwenna by one Concubran, an Irish writer of the end of the thirteenth and beginning of the fourteenth century. There is also an Irish life of a Monynna of Newry, in Ireland, who received the veil from the hands of St. Patrick, and died about A.D. 518. Concubran had this life, and knowing of the fame of the saintly abbess Modwenna of Burton-on-Trent, he supposed the two saints were the same, and wove the Irish legend of Monynna with the English life of Modwenna, and made out of them a life which is a tissue of anachronisms. He represents St. Mod- wenna as contemporary with Pope Coelestine I. (423-432), St. Patrick (died 465), St. Ibar (died 500), St. Columba (died 597), St. Kevin (died 618), and King Alfrid of Northumbria (died 705). St. Modwenna, or Moninna, founded a convent at Pochard Brighde, near Faugher, in the county of Louth, about the year 630 ; and 150 virgins placed themselves under her rule. But one night, an uproarious wedding having disturbed the rest and fluttered the hearts of her nuns, and threatened to turn their heads, Modwenna deemed it prudent to remove the excitable damsels to some more re- mote spot, where no weddings took place, nor convivial songs were heard ; and she pitched upon Killsleve-Cuilin, in the county of Armagh, where she erected a monastery. One of her maidens was named Athea, another Orbile. She had a brother, a holy abbot, named Ronan. In Concubran's Life of St. Modwenna, we are told that about this time Alfrid, son of the King of ST. MODWENNA OF BURTON 29 England, came to Ireland. This is certainly Alfrid, the illegitimate son of Oswy, who, on the accession of Egfrid (A.D. 670), fled to Ireland, and remained there studying, as Bede tells us, for some while. The Irish king, according to Concubran, was Conall. But this is a mistake. Conall, nephew of Donald II., reigned from 642 to 658. Seachnach was king in 670, but was killed the following year, and was suc- ceeded by Finnachta, who reigned till 695. When Alfrid was about to return to Northumbria, the Irish king wanted to make him a present, but, having nothing in his treasury, bade a kinsman go and rob some church or convent, and give the spoils to the Northumbrian prince. The noble fell on all the lands of the convent of Moninna, and pillaged them and the church. Then the saint, with great boldness, took ship, crossed over to England, went to Northumbria, and found the Prince Alfrid at Whitby (A.D. 685), and demanded redress. The king for Alfrid was now on the throne promised to repay all, and placed Moninna in the famous double monastery of Whitby founded by St. Hilda in 658. His own sister, Elfleda, was there ; and he committed her to St. Modwenna, to be instructed by her in the way of life. Elfleda was then aged thirty- one. Three years after she succeeded to the place of St. Hilda, and was second Abbess of Whitby. Then St. Modwenna returned to Ireland, and visited her foundations there. After a while she made a pilgrim- age to Rome, and in passing through England founded a religious house at Burton-on-Trent, and left in it some of her nuns. I need not follow her history farther. 30 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER Concubran tells some odd stories of St. Modwenna. One day she and her nuns went to visit St. Bridget regardless, be it remembered, of the gap of two centuries which intervened. A girl in the company took an onion away with her lest she should be hungry on the road. On reaching the LifTey, the river was found to be too swollen to be crossed. " There is something wrong," said Modwenna : "let us examine our consciences and cast away the accursed thing." "The accursed thing is this onion," said the maiden, producing the bulb. " Take it back to Bridget," said Modwenna ; and, when the onion had been restored, the Liffey subsided. Bridget sent a silver chalice to Modwenna. She threw it into the river, and the waves washed it to its destination. One night Modwenna said to her assembled nuns : " My sisters, we must all cleanse our consciences, for our prayers stick in the roof of the chapel, and cannot break out." Then one of the nuns said : " It is my fault. I complained to a knight of my acquaintance of the cold I felt; and he told me I was too scantily clothed. He was moved to such pity of me, that he gave me some warm lamb's-wool underclothing, and I have that on now." The garment was removed and destroyed ; and the prayers got out of the roof and flew to heaven. 1 1 "Dixit S. Movenna: Melius, ut illi subtulares imponantur in profun- dissimum branum (? barathrum) pro quibus nunc absentiam sentimus Angelorum ! Vocata itaque una ex sororibus Brigna et aliis cum ea ex sororibus, dixit eis : Ite ! illos subtulares in aliquo profundo abscondite." ST. MODWENNA OF BURTON 31 One night, shortly before her death, before the grey dawn broke, a couple of lay sisters came to her cell. As they approached, they saw two silver swans rise in the air, and sail away. They immediately con- cluded that these were angels come to bear off the soul of the abbess. Her body was laid at Burton-on-Trent, and was long an object of pilgrimage. But the fact that for a short while St. Modwenna instructed the sister of Alfrid, "son of the King of England," has led some writers into strange mistakes. Capgrave supposes him to be Alfred the Great, son of Ethelwolf, and that the sister was Edith of Polesworth, who died in 954. And Dugdale followed Capgrave. Mr. Hawker, following Alban Butler, who accepted the account of Dugdale and Capgrave, made the blunder greater by fusing St. Morwenna of Cornwall, who, as has been shown, lived in the fifth century, with Modwenna, who lived at the end of the seventh century, and made her the instructress of St. Edith of Polesworth, who died in the tenth century, in the year 954. And Modwenna, as has been stated, was confounded by Concubran with Monynna of Newry, who died at the beginning of the sixth century. On unravelling this tangle in 1874, I wrote to Mr. Hawker of Morwenstow, and told him that the east window of his church represented Morwenna of Cornwall teaching Edith of Polesworth, and that it was an anachronism and mistake altogether, as it was not Edith who was educated by the saintly Modwenna, and the abbess Modwenna was not the 32 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER virgin Morwenna. I told him also that St. Modwenna was buried at Burton-on-Trent. I received this answer : " What ! Morwenna not lie in the holy place at Morwenstow ! Of that you will never persuade me no, never. I know that she lies there. I have seen her, and she has told me as much ; and at her feet ere long I hope to lay my old bones." In the little glen of Morwenstow, 350 feet above the Atlantic, St. Morwenna had her cell, and gave origin to the church and parish of Morwenstow. As she lay a-dying, says a legend according to Hawker, her brother Nectan came to her from Hartland. " Raise me in thy arms, brother," she said, "that my eyes may rest on my native Wales." And so she died on Morwenstow cliff, looking out across the Severn Sea to the faint blue line of the Welsh mountains. St. Nectan had a cell at Wellcombe, as also at Hartland, for both of these churches bear his name. The coast from Tintagel to Hartland is almost unrivalled for grandeur. The restless Atlantic is ever thundering on this iron-walled coast. The roar can be heard ten miles inland ; flakes of foam are picked up after a storm at Holsworthy. To me, when staying three miles inland, it has seemed the roar of a hungry caged beast, ravening at its bars for food. The swell comes unbroken from Labrador, to hurl itself against this coast, and to be shivered into foam on its iron cuirass. " Twice," said a friend who dwelt near this coast, THE NORTH-WEST COAST 33 " twice in the sixteen years that I have spent here has the sea been calm enough to reflect a passing sail." This Atlantic has none of the tameness of the German Ocean, that plays on the low flat shores of Essex ; none of the witchery of the green crystal that breaks over the white sands of Babbicombe and Torquay: it is emphatically "the cruel sea," fierce, insatiate, hungering for human lives and stately vessels, that it may cast them up mumbled and mangled after having robbed them of life and treasure. It is a rainy coast. It is said in Devon, and the same is true here : The west wind comes, and brings us rain ; The east wind blows it back again ; The south wind brings us rainy weather; The north wind, cold and rain together. When the sun in red doth set, The next day surely will be wet ; But, if the sun should set in grey, The next will be a rainy day. When buds the ash before the oak, Then that year there'll be a soak ; But, should the oak precede the ash, Why then expect a rainy splash. The moist air from the ocean condenses over the land, and envelops it in fine fog or rain. But when the sky is clear, with only floating clouds drifting along it, the sunlight and shadows that fall over the landscape through the vaporous air are exquisite in their delicacy of colour; the sun-gleams soft as prim- rose, the shadows pure cobalt, tenderly laid on as the bloom on the cheek of a plum. 34 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER As the tall cliffs on this wild coast lose themselves in mist, so does history, which attaches itself to many a spot along it, stand indistinct and weird in its veil of legend. Kings and saints of whom little authentic is known, whose very dates are uncertain, have given their names to castle and crag and church. Tintagel Rock is crowned with the ruins of the stronghold of Duke Gorlois, whose wife became the mother of the renowned Arthur, by Uther Pendragon. We have the tale in Geoffry of Monmouth. There, in the home of the shrieking sea-mews, Arthur uttered his first feeble cries. It is a scene well suited to be the cradle of the hero of British myth a tremendous crag standing out of the sea, which has bored a tunnel through it, and races in and clashes in sub- terranean passages under the crumbling walls which sheltered Arthur. The crag is cut off from the mainland by a chasm once spanned by a drawbridge, but now widened by storm so as to threaten to convert Tintagel into an island. Near Boscastle rises Pentargon, " Arthur's Head," a noble black sheer precipice, forming one horn of a little bay into which a waterfall plunges from a green combe. But there are other names besides those of Arthur, Uther Pendragon, Morwenna, Juliot and Nectan, which are associated with this coast. At Stowe, in the parish of Kilkhampton, adjoining Morwenstow, lived Sir Bevil Grenville, the Bayard of old Cornwall, " sans peur et sans reproche," who fought and conquered at Stratton, and fell at Lans- STOWE 35 down. Sir Bevil nearly ruined himself for the cause of his king, Charles I. One of Mr. Hawker's most spirited ballads is THE GATE SONG OF STOWE. Arise ! and away ! for the king and the law ; Farewell to the couch and the pillow : With spear in the rest, and with rein in the hand, Let us rush on the foe like a billow. Call the hind from the plough, and the herd from the fold ; Bid the wassailer cease from his revel ; And ride for old Stowe when the banner's unfurled For the cause of King Charles and Sir Bevil. Trevanion is up, and Godolphin is nigh, And Harris of Hayne's o'er the river ; From Lundy to Looe, " One and all ! " is the cry, And " the king and Sir Bevil for ever ! " Ay ! by Tre, Pol and Pen, ye may know Cornishmen 'Mid the names and the nobles of Devon ; But if truth to the king be a signal, why, then, Ye can find out the Grenville in heaven. Ride ! ride with red spear ! there is death in delay : 'Tis a race for dear life with the devil ! If dark Cromwell prevail, and the king must give way, This earth is no place for Sir Bevil. So at Stamford he fought, and at Lansdown he fell : But vain were the visions he cherished ; For the great Cornish heart that the king loved so well, In the grave of the Grenville it perished. One day, if indeed we may trust the story, Mrs. Hawker, the first wife of the vicar of Morwenstow, 36 LIFE OF RORERT STEPHEN HAWKER when lunching at Stowe in the farmhouse, noticed that a letter in old handwriting was wrapped round the mutton-bone that was brought on the table. Moved by curiosity, she took the paper off, and showed it to Mr. Hawker. On examination it was found that the letter bore the signature of Sir Bevil Gren- ville. Mr. Hawker at once instituted inquiries, and found a large chest full of letters of different mem- bers of the Grenville family in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. He at once communicated with Lord Carteret, owner of Stowe, and the papers were removed ; but by some unfortunate accident they were lost. The only ones saved were a packet extracted from the chest by Mr. Davies, rector of Kilkhampton, previous to their being sent away from Stowe. These were copied by Miss Manning of Eastaway, in Morwenstow ; and her transcript, together with some of her originals I fear not all is now in the possession of Ezekiel Rous, Esq., of Bideford. 1 In his Footprints of Former Men, Mr. Hawker has printed a letter from Antony Payne, the gigantic serving-man of Sir Bevil, written after the battle of Lansdown, to Lady Grace Grenville, giving an account of the death of her husband. This was probably one of the letters in the collection found by Mr. Hawker, and so sadly lost. This Antony Payne was a remarkable man. He measured seven feet two inches without his shoes when aged twenty-one, when he was taken into the 1 1 do not myself believe in the story of the finding of the papers by Mrs. Hawker. ANTONY PAYNE 37 establishment at Stowe. He afterwards added two inches to his height. It is said that one Christmas Eve the fire languished in the hall at Stowe. A boy with an ass had been sent to the woods for logs, but had loitered on his way. Lady Grace lost patience. Then Antony started in quest of the dilatory lad, and re-entered the hall shortly after, bearing the loaded animal on his back. He threw down his bur- den at the hearth-side, shouting, ' Ass and fardel ! Ass and fardel for my lady's Yule ! " On another occasion he rode into Stratton with Sir Bevil. An uproar proceeded from the little inn-yard, and Sir Bevil bade his giant find out what was the cause of the disturbance. Antony speedily returned with a man under each arm, whom he had arrested in the act of fighting. " Here are the kittens," said the giant ; and he held them under his arms whilst his master chastised them with his riding-whip. After the battle of Stamford Hill, Sir Bevil re- turned for the night to Stowe ; but his giant remained with some other soldiers to bury the dead. He had caused trenches to be dug to hold ten bodies side by side, and in these trenches he and his followers deposited the slain. On one occasion they had laid nine corpses in their places ; and Payne was bringing another, tucked under his arm like one of the " kit- tens," when all at once the supposed dead man began to kick and plead for life. " Surely you won't bury me, Mr. Payne, before I am dead ? " " I tell thee, man," was the grim reply, " our trench was dug for ten, and there's nine in it already : thou must take 38 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER thy place." " But I bean't dead, I say ; I haven't done living yet : be massyful, Mr. Payne ; don't ye hurry a poor fellow into the earth before his time." " I won't hurry thee : thou canst die at thy lei- sure." Payne's purpose was, however, kinder than his speech. He carried the suppliant to his own cot- tage, and left him to the care of his wife. The man lived, and his descendants are among the principal inhabitants of Stratton at this day. I make no apology for transcribing from the ori- ginal letters a very few of the 1 most interesting and touching, some for whose escape we cannot feel too thankful. The following beautiful letter is from Lady Grace Grenville to her husband. The superscription is : FOR MY BEST FRIEND, SIR BEVILL GRENVILE. MY EVER DEAREST, I have received yours from Salis- bury, and am glad to hear you came so farr well, with poore Jack. Ye shall be sure of my prairs, which is the best service I can doe you. I canott perceave whither you had receaved mine by Tom, or no, but I believe by this time you have mett that and another since by the post. Truly I have been out of frame ever since you went, not with a cough, but in another kinde, much indisposd. However, I have striven with it, and was at Church last Sunday, but not the former. I have been vexed with diverse demands made of money than I could satisfie, but I instantly paid what you sent, and have intreated Mr. Rous his patience a while longer, as you directed. It grieves me to think how chargeable your family is, considering your occasion. It hath this many yeares troubled me to think to what passe it must come at last, if it run on after this course. How many times what hath appeared hopefull, and yet proved contrary in the conclusion, hath befalen us, I am loth to urge, because tis farr from my desire to disturbe your thoughts ; but LETTER OF LADY GRACE GRENVILLE 39 this sore is not to be curd with silence, or patience either, and while you are loth to discourse or thinke of that you can take little comfort to see how bad it is, and I was unwilling to strike on that string which sounds harsh in your eare (the matter still grows worse, though). I can never putt it out of my thoughts, and that makes me often times seeme dreaming to you, when you expect I should sometimes observe more complement with my frends, or be more active in matters of curiousity in our House, which doubtlesse you would have been better pleasd with had I been capable to have jperformd it, and I believe though I had a naturall dullnes in me, it would never so much have appeard to my prejudice, but twas increasd by a con- tinuance of sundry disasters, which I still mett with, yet never till this yeare, but I had some strength to encounter them, and truly now I am soe cleane overcome, as tis in vaine to deny a truth. It seems to me now tis high time to be sensible that God is displeased, having had many sad remembrances in our estate and childrene late, yet God spard us in our children long, and when I strive to follow your advice in moderating my grieffe (which I praise God) I have thus farr been able to doe as not to repine at God's will, though I have a tender sence of griefe which hangs on me still, and I think it as dangerous and improper to forgett it, for I cannott but think it was a neer touched correction, sent from God to check me for my many neglects of my duty to God. It was the tenth and last plague God smote the Egyptians with, the death of their first borne, before he utterly destroyed them, they persisting in their dis- obedience notwithstanding all their former punishments. This apprehension makes me both tremble and humbly beseech Him to withdraw His punishments from us, and to give us grace to know and amend whatever is amisse. Now I have powrd out my sad thoughts which in your absence doth most oppresse me, and tis my weakness hardly to be able to say thus much unto you, how brimfull soever my heart be, though oftentimes I heartely wish I could open my heart truly unto you when tis overchargd. But the least thought it may not be pleasing to you will at all times restraine me. Consider me rightly, I be- seech you, and excuse, I pray, the liberty I take with my pen 40 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER in this kinde. And now at last I must thanke you for wishing me to lay aside all feare, and depend on the Almighty, who can only helpe us; for His mercy I daily pray, and your welfare, and our pooreboys ; so I conclude, and am ever your faithfully and only GRACE GRENVILE. STOW, Nov. 23, 1641. I sent yours to Mr. Prust, but this from him came after mine was gone last weeke. Ching is gone to Cheddar. I looke for Bawden, but as yet is not come. Sir Rob. Bassett is dead. I heard from my cosen Grace Weekes, who writes that Mr. Luttrell says if you and he could meete the liking between the young people, he will not stand for money you shall finde. Parson Weekes wishes you would call with him, and that he might entice you to take the castle in your way downe. She sayes they enquire in the most courteous manner that can be imagind. Deare love, thinke how to farther this what you can. The following is an earlier letter by many years, written when Grace was a wife of six years' standing. SWEET MR. GRENVILE, I cannott let Mr. Oliver passe without a line, though it be only to give you thankes for yours, which I have receaved. I will in all things observe your direc- tions as neer as I can, and because I have not time to say much now I will write againe to-morrow . . . [something torn away], and think you shall receave advertizment concerning us much as you desyre. I cannot say I am well, neither have I bin so since I saw you, but, however, I will pray for your health, and good successe in all businesses, and pray be so kinde as to love her who takes no comfort in anything but you, and will remayne yours ever and only GRACE GRENVILE. FRYDAY NIGHT, Nov. 13, 1629. The superscription of this letter is : "To my ever dearest and best Friend, Mr. Bevill Grenvile, at the Rainbow, in Fleet Street." THE GRENVILLE LETTERS 41 Lady Grace was the daughter of Sir George Smith of Exeter, Kt. : she was born in 1598, and married Sir Bevil Grenville in 1620. He died in 1643, on the battlefield of Lansdown, near Bath ; and she followed him to the grave in 1647. Her portrait is at Haynes, " setatis suae 36, 1634 ". One of Sir Bevil is in the possession of Lord John Thynne ; another with date 1636, " aetatis suae 40," is in the possession of Rev. W. W. Martyn of Tonacombe, in Morwen- stow. There are other letters of the Grenvilles in the bundle from which I have selected these. One from John Grenville to his brother, giving a curious picture of London life in the seventeenth century, narrating how he quarrelled with a certain barber Wells, and came very nigh to pulling off noses ; l one from Jane, wife of John Grenville, Earl of Bath, to her husband "for thy deare selfe," beginning, " My deare Heart," and telling how : I am now without any man in the house, my father being gone, and Jacke is drunk all day and leyes out of nights, and if I do but tell him of it he will be gone presantly ; therefore, for God's sake, make haste up, for I am so parpetually ill that I am not fit to bee anny longgar left in this condission. My poore motther hath now so much bisnese that I do not knowe how long she will be abble to tary with mee, and if that should happen, which God forbid it should at any time, much more now, what dost thou thinke I should do ? I want the things thou prommysed to send me very much, which, being to long to put in a lettar, I have geven my brother a not of. My deare, consider how nere I am my time, and many women comming this yeare before thar time. . . . Thou mayst now !To Seville Grenville, Esq., dated July 18. 1621. 42 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER thinke how impassiontly I am till I see thee agane, thinking every day a hondared yeare ; my affecksion being so gret that I wounder how I have stayd till the outmoust time. I will saye no more now, hopping to see thee every day, but that I am, and ever will bee, thy most affectionate and faithful wife and sarvant, JANE GRENVILE. Thy babe bayrs thy blessing. This letter is dated only June 17, without year. It is always pleasant to meet with the beating of a warm human heart. A third letter I venture to tran- scribe here, from George Lord Lansdown, 1 grandson of Sir Bevil, to his nephew, Bevil Grenville. DEAR NEPHEW, I approve very well of your resolution of dedicating yourself to the service of God. You could not chuse a better master, provided you have so sufficiently searched your heart and examined your reins, as to be persuaded you can serve Him well. In so doing, you may secure to yourself many blessings in this world, as well as sure hope in the next. There is one thing which I perceive you have not yet thoroughly purged yourself from ; which is, flattery. You have bestowed so much of it upon me in your last letter, that I hope you have no more left, and that you meant it only to take your leave of such flights, which, however well meant, oftener put a man out of countenance than oblige him. You are now to be a searcher after truth, and I shall hereafter take it more kindly to be justly reproved by you than to be undeservedly compli- mented. I would not have you misunderstand me, as if I recom- mended to you a sour Presbyterian severity. That is yet more to be avoided : advice, like physick, must be so sweetned and 1 George Lord Lansdown was son of Bernard Grenville, son of Sir Bevil. Bernard, who died 1701, had three sons, Bevil, George and Barnard; and Barnard had two sons, Barnard and Bevil, and Mary, a daughter, who married Dr. Delany. Bevil, the son of Barnard, is the nephew to whom this letter is addressed. LETTER OF LORD LANSDOWN 43 prepared as to be made palatable, or Nature may be apt to revolt against it. Be always sincere, but at the same time be always polite. Be humble without descending from your character, and re- prove and correct without ofending good manners. To be a Cynick is as bad as to be a Sycophant : you are not to lay aside the gentleman with the sword, nor put on the gown to hide your birth and good breeding, but to adorn it. Such has been the malice of the wicked, that pride, avarice, and ambition have been charged upon the Clergy in all ages, in all countrys, and equally in all religions. What they are most obliged to combat against in the pulpits they are most accused of encouraging in their conduct. Let your example confirm your doctrine, and let no man ever have it in his power to reproach you with practising contrary to what you preach. You had an unckle, the late Dean of Durham, 1 whose memory I shall ever revere. Make him your example. Sanctity sat so easy, so unaffected, and so gracefull upon him, that in him we beheld the very beauty of Holiness. He was as chearful as familiar, as condescending in his conversation, as he was strict, regular, and exemplary in his piety; as well-bred and accomplished as a courtier, and as reverend and venerable as an Apostle ; he was indeed Apostolical in everything, for he left all to follow his Lord and Master. May you resemble him ; may he revive in you; may his spirit descend upon you, as Elijah's on Elisha ; and may the great God of heaven, in guid- ing, directing, and strengthening your pious resolutions, pour down the choicest of his blessings upon you ! LANSDOWN. The old house at Stowe was converted into farm buildings, and a new red brick mansion, square, con- taining a court in the middle, was built in 1660 by John, Earl of Bath. He died in 1701 ; and his son, 1 Denys Grenville, Dean of Durham (born February, 1636), was son of Sir Bevil. He was a nonjuror, and so lost his deanery : he retired to Rouen in Normandy, and there died, greatly respected. 44 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER Charles, shot himself accidentally when going from London to Kilkhampton to his father's funeral, leaving a son, William Henry, third Earl of Bath, seven years of age when his father died. Thus, as was said, at the same time there were three Earls of Bath above ground. William Henry died at the age of seventeen, in 1711 ; and then the Grenville property was divided between the sisters of Charles, second Earl of Bath Jane, who married Sir William Gower, ancestor of the Dukes of Sutherland ; and Grace, who at the age of eight married George, afterwards first Lord Carteret, then aged eleven. The letters of this little pair to one another, when the husband was at school and she at Haynes, exist in the possession of Lord John Thynne. Stowe House was pulled down. Within the memory of one man, grass grew and was mown in the meadow where sprang up Stowe House, and grew and was mown in the meadow where Stowe had been. A few crumbling walls only mark the site of the old home of the Grenvilles. 1 The Cornish people in former days were passion- ately fond of theatrical performances. In numerous parts of Cornwall there exist green dells or depressions in the surface of the ground, situated generally on a moor. These depressions have been assisted by the hand of man to form rude theatres : the slopes were terraced for seats, and on fine summer days, at the "revels " of the locality, were occupied by crowds of spectators, whilst village actors performed on the 1 A picture of old Stowe is in the possession of Lord John Thynne ; another in that of Rev. W. W. Martyn of Lifton and Tonacombe. CORNISH DRAMATIC INSTINCT 45 turf stage. 1 Originally the pieces acted were sacred, curious mysteries, of which specimens remain, relating to the creation, or the legendary history of St. Meriadoc, or the passion of the Saviour, the prototypes of the Ammergau Passions-spiel. These in later times gave way to secular pieces, not always very choice in subject, and with the broadest of jokes in the speeches of the performers ; not worse, perhaps, than are to be found in Shakspeare, and which were tolerated in the days of Elizabeth. These dramatical performances were in full vigour when Wesley preached in Cornwall. He seized on these rude green theatres, and harangued from their turfy platforms to wondering and agitated crowds, which thronged the grassy slopes. The Cornish people became Methodists, and play- going became sinful. The doom of these dramas was sealed when the place of their performances was turned into an arena for revivals. The camp-meeting supplanted the drama. But, though these plays are things of the past, the dramatic instinct survives among the Cornish people. There is scarce a parish in which some are not to be found who are actors by nature. For telling a story, with power of speech, expression and gesture, they have not their equals in England among un- professionals. One of the most brilliant raconteurs of our times was Mr. Hicks, Mayor of Bodmin. Some years ago a member sauntering into the Cos- 1 There is one such not far from Morwenstow, in the parish of Kilk- hampton. 46 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER mopolitan Club would find a ring of listeners gathered about a chair. In that ring he would recognise the faces of Thackeray, Dickens, and other literary ce- lebrities, wiping away the tears which streamed from their eyes between each explosion of laughter. He would ask, in surprise, what was the attraction. " Only the little fat Cornishman from Bodmin telling a story." l His tales were works of art, wrought out with admirable skill, every point sharpened, every detail considered, and the whole told with such expression and action as could not be surpassed. His " Rabbit and Onions " has been essayed by many since his voice has been hushed ; but the copies are pale, and the outlines blurred. The subject of this memoir had inherited the Cornish love of story-telling, and the power of telling stories with dramatic force. But he had not the skill of Mr. Hicks in telling a long story, and keeping his hearers thrilling throughout the recital, breathless lest they should lose a word. Mr. Hawker contented himself with brief anecdotes, but those he told to perfection. I shall, in the course of my narrative, give a specimen or two of stories told by common Cornish peasants. Alas, that I cannot reproduce the twinkling eye, the droll working countenances, and the agitated hands, all assistants in the story-telling ! 1 He was formerly governor of the lunatic asylum at Bodmin, and after- wards clerk of the Board of Guardians, and in turn Mayor of Bodmin. Being very fat, he had himself once announced at dinner as " The Corpora- tion of Bodmin." A memoir of Mr. Hicks, and a collection of his stories has been written by Mr. W. Collier, and published by Luke, Plymouth. CHAPTER III Description of Morwenstow The Anerithmon Gelasnia Source of the Tamar Tonacombe Morwenstow Church Norman Chevron- Moulding Chancel Altar Shooting Rubbish The Manning Bed The Yellow Poncho The Vicarage Mr. Tom Knight The Stag, Robin Hood Visitors The Silent Tower of Bottreaux The Pet of Boscastle. A WRITER in The Standard gives this descrip- tion of Morwenstow : " No railway has as yet come near Morwenstow, and none will pro- bably ever approach it nearer than Bude. The coast is iron-bound. Strangely contorted schists and sand- stones stretch away northward in an almost unbroken line of rocky wall to the point of Hartland ; and to the south-west a bulwark of cliffs, of very similar character, extends to and beyond Tintagel, whose rude walls are sometimes seen projected against the sunset in the far distance. The coast scenery is of the grandest description, with its spires of splintered rock, its ledges of green turf, inaccessible, but tempting from the rare plants which nestle in the crevices, its seal-haunted caverns, its wild birds (among which the red-legged chough can hardly be reckoned any longer, so much has it of late years lessened in numbers), 1 the miles of sparkling blue sea over which 1 This is inaccurate. There is scarce a cliff along this coast which has not its pair of choughs building in it. On the day on which this was written, (47) 48 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER the eye ranges from the summits ablaze and fragrant with furze and heather ; and here and there the little coves of yellow sand, bound in by towering blackened walls, haunts which seem specially designed for the sea-elves Who chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him When he comes back. " Even in bright weather, and in summer in spite of the beauty and quiet of the scene, and in spite, too, of the long, deep valleys, filled with wood, which, in the parish of Morwenstow especially, descend quite to the sea, and give an impression of extreme still- ness and seclusion no one can wander along the summit of the cliffs without a consciousness that he is looking on a giant, at rest indeed for a time, but more full of strength and more really terrible than any of the Cormorans or the Goemagots who have left their footprints and their strongholds on the hills of Cornwall. The sea and the coast here are, in truth, pitiless ; and, before the construction of the haven at Bude, a vessel had no chance whatever of escape which approached within a certain distance of the rocks. Such a shipwreck as is described in Gait's story of The Entail when persons standing on the cliff, without the smallest power to help, could see the vessel driven onward, could watch every motion on its deck, and at last see it dashed to pieces close under their feet has more than once been I went out on Morwenstow cliff, and saw two red-legged choughs flying above me. A friend tells me he has counted six or seven together on Bude sands. The choughs are, however, becoming scarce, being driven away by the jackdaws. FIRST SIGHT OF MORWENSTOW 49 observed from the coast of Morwenstow by Mr. Hawker himself. No winter passes without much loss of life. The little churchyards along the coast are filled with sad records ; and in that of Morwen- stow the crews of many a tall vessel have been laid to rest by the care of the vicar himself, who organised a special band of searchers for employment after a great storm." * The road to Morwenstow from civilisation passes between narrow hedges, every bush on which is bent from the sea. Not a tree is visible. The whole country, doubtless, a century ago was moor and fen. At Chapel is a plantation ; but every tree crouches shrivelled, and turns its arms imploringly inland. The leaves are burnt and sear soon after they have expanded. The glorious blue Atlantic is before one, with only Lundy Isle breaking the continuity of the horizon line. In very clear weather, and before a storm, far away in faintest blue, the Welsh coast can be seen to the north-west. Suddenly the road dips down a combe ; and Mor- wenstow tower, grey-stoned, pinnacled, stands up against the blue ocean, with a grove of stunted sycamores on the north of the church. Some way below, deep down in the glen, are seen the roofs and fantastic chimneys of the vicarage. The quaint lyche-gate and ruined cottage beside it, the venerable church, the steep slopes of the hills blazing with gorse or red with heather, and the background of sparkling blue sea half-way up the sky from such 1 Standard, ist September, 1875. 4 50 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER a height above the shore is it looked upon form a picture, once seen, never to be forgotten. The bottom of the glen is filled with wood, stunted, indeed, but pleasant to see after the treeless desolation of the high land around. A path leads from church and vicarage upon Mor- wenstow cliffs. On the other side of the combe rises HennaclirTe to the height of 450 feet above the sea, a magnificent face of splintered and contorted schist, with alternating friable slaty beds. Half-way down Morwenstow cliff, only to be reached by a narrow and scarcely distinguishable path, is the well of St. Morwenna. Mr. Hawker repaired it ; but about twenty years ago the spring worked itself a way through another stratum of slate, and sprang out of the sheer cliff some feet lower down, and falls in a miniature cascade, a silver thread of water, over a ledge of schist into the sea. On a green spot, across which now run cart-tracks, in the side of the glen, stood originally, according to Mr. Hawker, a chapel to St. Morwenna, visited by those who sought her sacred well. The green patch forms a rough parallelogram, and bears faint traces of having been levelled out of the slope. No stone remains on another of the ancient chapel. From the cliff an unrivalled view can be had of the Atlantic, from Lundy Isle to Padstow point. Tinta- gel Rock, with its ancient castle, stands out boldly, as the horn of a vast sweep against glittering water, lit by a passing gleam behind. Gulls, rocks, choughs, wheel and scream around the crag, now fluttering a little way above the head, and then diving down DESCRIPTION OF MORWENSTOW 51 towards the sea, which roars and foams several hundreds of feet below. The beach is inaccessible save at one point, where a path has been cut down the side of a steep gorse- covered slope, and through slides of ruined slate rock, to a bay, into which the Tonacombe Brook precipitates itself in a broken fall of foam. The little coves with blue-grey floors wreathed with sea-foam ; the splintered and contorted rock ; the curved strata, which here bend over like exposed ribs of a mighty mammoth ; the sharp skerries that run out into the sea to torment it into eddies of froth and spray are of rare wildness and beauty. It is impossible to stand on these cliffs, and not cite the avripiOfjiov yeXaafia, Tra^ftiJTop re yrj of the poet. If this were quoted in the ears of the vicar of Morwenstow, he would stop, lay his hand on one's arm and say " How do you translate that ? " " ' The many-twinkling smile of ocean.' ' " I thought so. So does every one else. But it is wrong," with emphasis " utterly wrong. Listen to me. Prometheus is bound, held backwards, with brazen fetters binding him to the rock. He cannot see the waters, cannot note their smiles. He gazes up into the sky above him. But he hears. Notice how ^Eschylus describes the sounds that reach his ears, not the sights. Above, indeed, is the 'divine aether ' ; he is looking into that, and he hears the fanning of the ' swift-winged breezes,' and the mur- mur and splash of the ' fountains of rivers ' ; and then 52 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER comes the passage which I translate, ' The loud laugh of ocean waves.' ' A little way down the side of the hill that descends in gorse banks and broken rock and clean precipice to one of the largest and grandest of the caves, is a hut made of fragments of wrecked ships thrown up on this shore. The sides are formed of curved ribs of vessels, and the entrance ornamented with carved work from a figure-head. This hut was made by Mr. Hawker himself ; and in it he would sit, sheltered from storm, and look forth over the wild sea, dream- ing, composing poetry, or watching ships scudding before the gale dangerously near the coast. It was in this hut that most of his great poem, " The Quest of the Sangreal," was composed. A friend says : " 1 often visited him whilst this poem was in process of composition, and sat with him in this hut as he recited it. I shall never forget one wild evening, when the sun had gone down before our eyes as a ball of red-hot iron into the deep. He had completed 'The Quest of the Sangreal,' and he repeated it from memory to me. He had a marvel- lous power of recitation, and with his voice, action and pathos, threw a life into the words which vanishes in print. I cannot forget the close of the poem, with the throbbing sea before me, and Tintagel looming out of the water to the south : He ceased, and all around was dreamy night ; There stood Dundagel, throned ; and the great sea Lay, a strong vassal at his master's gate, And, like a drunken giant, sobbed in sleep. THE TAMAR AND TORRIDGE 53 On a rushy knoll, in a moor in the parish of Mor- wenstow, rises the Tamar, 1 and from the same mount flows the Torridge. Fount of a rushing river ! wild flowers wreathe The home where thy first waters sunlight claim ; The lark sits hushed beside thee while I breathe, Sweet Tamar spring ! the music of thy name. On through thy goodly channel, on ! to the sea ! Pass amid heathery vale, tall rock, fair bough ; But never more with footstep pure and free, Or face so meek with happiness as now. Fair is the future scenery of thy days, Thy course domestic, and thy paths of pride : Depths that give back the soft-eyed violet's gaze, Shores where tall navies march to meet the tide. Yet false the vision, and untrue the dream, That lures thee from thy native wilds to stray : A thousand griefs will mingle with thy stream, Unnumbered hearts will sigh these waves away. Scenes fierce with men, thy seaward current laves; Harsh multitudes will throng thy gentle brink ; Back with the grieving concourse of thy waves, Home to the waters of thy childhood, shrink. Thou heedest not ! thy dream is of the shore, Thy heart is quick with life ; on ! to the sea ! How will the voice of thy far streams implore Again amid these peaceful weeds to be ! My soul 1 my soul 1 a happier choice be thine, Thine the hushed valley and the lonely sod ; False dream, far vision, hollow hope, resign, Fast by our Tamar spring, alone with God ! 1 Tamar in Cornish is Taw-mawr, the great water ; Tavy is Taw-vach, the lesser water. 54 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER In the parish of Morwenstow is one very interest- ing old house, Tonacombe, or, as it was originally called, Tidnacombe. It belonged originally to the Jourdains, passed to the Kempthornes, the Wad- dons, and from thence to the Martyns. The present proprietor is the Rev. W. Waddon Martyn, rector of Lifton. It is an ancient mansion of the sixteenth century, quite perfect and untouched, very small and plain, but in its way a gem, and well deserving a visit. It is low, crouching to the ground like the trees of the district, as for shelter, or as a ptarmigan cowering from the hawk, with wings spread over her young. A low gate, with porter's lodge at the side, leads into a small yard, into which look the windows of the hall. The hall goes to the roof with open timbers ; it is small thirty feet long but perfect in its way, with minstrel's gallery, large open fireplace with andirons, and adorned with antlers, old weapons and banners bearing the arms of the Jourdains, Kemp- thornes, Waddons and Martyns. The hall gives access to a dark panelled parlour, with peculiar and handsome brass andirons in the old fireplace, looking out through a latticed window into the old walled garden, or Paradise. It is curious that Mr. Kingsley, when writing Westward Ho ! should have overlooked Tonacombe, and laid some of his scenes at Chapel in the same parish, where there never was an old house nor were any traditions. Probably he did not know of the exist- ence of this charming old mansion. The minstrel's gallery was divided off from the hall, and converted into TONACOMBE 55 a bedroom ; but Mr. Hawker pointed out its original destination to the owner, and he at once threw down the lath-and-plaster partition, and restored the hall to its original proportions. 1 The hall was also flat- ceiled across; but the vicar of Morwenstow discovered the oaken roof above the ceiling, and persuaded Mr. Martyn to expose it to view. A narrow slit in the wall from the bedroom of the lady of the house allowed her to command a view of her lord at his carousals, and listen to his sallies. Morwenstow Church stands on the steep slope of a hill. My Saxon shrine ! the only ground Wherein this weary heart hath rest ; What years the birds of God have found Along thy walls their sacred nest. The storm, the blast, the tempest shock, Have beat upon those walls in vain : She stands ! a daughter of the rock, The changeless God's eternal fane. Firm was their faith, the ancient bands, The wise of heart in wood and stone, Who reared with stern and trusty hands These dark grey towers of days unknown. 1 Tonacombe was panelled by John Kempthorne, who died in 1591. The panelling remains in three of the rooms, and the initials J. K. and K. K. (Katherine Kempthorne) appear in each. The date is also given, 1578, on the panelling. In the large parlour on two shields are the arms of Ley quartered with those of Jordan and Kempthorne impaling Courtenay and Redvers. Prince, in his Worthies of Devon, gives a notice of Sir John Kempthorne, Kt. , who put up this panelling. He is buried in the Mor- wenstow Church, where there is an interesting incised stone to his memory under the altar. His wife, Katherine Kempthorne, daughter of Sir Piers Courtenay of Ugbrook, is also buried there. 56 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER They filled these aisles with many a thought ; They bade each nook some truth reveal ; The pillared arch its legend brought ; A doctrine came with roof and wall. Huge, mighty, massive, hard and strong, Were the choice stones they lifted then ; The vision of their hope was long, They knew their God, those faithful men. They pitched no tent for change or death, No home to last man's shadowy day : There, there, the everlasting breath Would breathe whole centuries away. It is a church of very great interest, consisting of nave, chancel and two aisles. The arcade of the north aisle is remarkably fine, and of two dates. Two semicircular arches are richly carved with Norman zigzag and billet : one is plain, eventually intended to be carved like the other two. The re- maining two arches are transition early English pointed and plain. At the spring of the sculptured arches, in the spandrels, are very spirited projecting heads : one of a ram is remarkably well modelled. The vicar, who mused over his church, and sought a signification in everything, believed that this repre- sented the ram caught in a thicket by the horns, and was symbolical of Christ, the true sacrifice. Another projecting head is spirited the mouth is contorted with mocking laughter : this, he asserted, was the head of Arius. Another head, with the tongue lolling out, was a heretic deriding the sacred mysteries. But his most singular fancy was with respect to the chevron ornamentation on the arcade. When MORENSTOW CHURCH 57 first I visited the church, I exclaimed at the beauty of the zigzag moulding. "Zigzag! zigzag!" echoed the vicar scornfully. " Do you not see that it is near the font that this ornament occurs ? It is the ripple of the lake of Genesareth, the Spirit breathing upon the waters of baptism. Look without the Church there is the restless old ocean thundering with all his waves : you can hear the roar even here. Look within all is calm : here plays over the baptismal pool only the Dove who fans it into ripples with His healing wings." The font is remarkably rude, an uncouth, mis- shapen block of stone from the shore, scooped out, its only ornamentation being a cable twisted round it, rudely carved. The font is probably of the tenth century. The entrance door to the nave is of very fine Norman work in three orders, but defaced by the removal of the outer order, which has been converted into the door of the porch. Mr. Hawker, observing that the porch door was Norman, concluded that his church possessed a unique specimen of a Norman porch ; but it was pointed out to him that his door was nothing but the outer order of that into the church, removed from its place ; and then he deter- mined, as soon as he could collect sufficient money, to restore the church, to pull down the porch, and replace the Norman doorway in its original condition. The church is dedicated to St. John the Baptist. A little stream runs through the graveyard, and rushes down the hill to the porch door, where it is 58 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER diverted, and carried off to water the glebe. This, he thought, was brought through the churchyard for symbolic reasons, to typify Jordan, near which the Baptist ministered. The descent into the church is by three steps. " Every church dedicated to John the Baptiser," he said in one of his sermons, " is thus arranged. We go down into them, as those who were about to be baptised of John went down into the water. The Spirit that appeared when Christ descended into Jordan hovers here, over that font, over you, over me, and ever will hover here as long as a stone of Morwenna's church stands on this green slope, and a priest of God ministers in it." The south arcade of the nave is much posterior to that on the north side. One of the capitals bears the inscription : THIS WAS MADE ANNO MVCLX 4 (1564). Another capital bears : THIS IS THE HOUSE OF THE LORD. It has been put up inverted. The arcade is rich and good for the date. Of the same date are the carved oak benches. A few only are earlier, and bear the symbols of the transfixed heart on the spear, the nails and cross. These Mr. Hawker found laid as flooring under the pews, their faces planed. The rest bear, on shields, sea-monsters. There was a fine oak screen very much earlier in style than the benches. When Mr. Hawker arrived at Morwenstow, the clerk said to him : " Please, your honor, I have done you a very MORENSTOW CHURCH 59 gude turn. I've just been and cut down and burned a rubbishing old screen that hid the chancel." "You had much better have burnt yourself!" he exclaimed. " Show me what remains." Only a few fragments of the richly sculptured and gilt cornice, and one piece of tracery, remained. The cornice represents doves flying amidst oak-leaves and vine-branches, and a fox running after them. The date not later than 1535, when a screen in the same style and character was erected at Broadwood Widger. 1 Mr. Hawker collected every fragment, and put the pieces together with bits of modern and poor carved wood, and cast-iron tracery, and constructed there- with a not ineffective rood-screen. Outside the screen is an early incised cross in the floor, turned with feet to the west, marking the grave of a priest. " The flock lie with their feet to the east, looking for the rising of the day-star. But the pastor always rests with his head to the east, and feet westward, that at the resurrection day, when all rise, he may be facing those for whom he must give an account to the Maker and Judge of all, and may say with the prophet : Behold, I and the children whom the Lord hath given me." The chancel was originally lighted by lancets, which have, however, been blocked up and plastered 1 The date is on a scroll, which is in a hand descending from the clouds, upon one of the bench-ends. Benches and screens are of the same date. The Morwenstow screen has been removed at the recent miserable " restoration." The wreckers are not extinct in Cornwall, they call them- selves architects and fall on and ravage churches. 60 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER over. The floor he kept strewn with southernwood and thyme, "for angels to smell to." The east wall was falling, and in 1849 was rebuilt, and a stained window by Warrington inserted, given by the late Lord Clinton. It represents St. Mor- wenna teaching Editha, daughter of Ethelwolf, 1 be- tween St. Peter and St. Paul. The window is very poor and coarse in drawing and in colour. The ancient piscina in the wall is of early English date. Mr. Hawker discovered under the pavement in the church, when reseating it, the base of a small pillar, Norman in style, with a hole in it for a rivet which attached to it the slender column it supported. This he supposed was a piscina drain, and accordingly set it up in the recess beside his altar. Mr. Hawker used an old stable, very decayed, on the north side of the chancel, as his vestry, and descended by a stair from it to the church. Floor and roof and stair are now in the last stage of decay. His altar was of wood, and low. He had on it a clumsy wooden cross, without figure, vases with bouquets of flowers, and two Cornish serpentine candlesticks. There was an embroidered frontal on his altar, given him in 1843, and used for all seasons alike. Considering the veneration in which Mr. Hawker held holy things and places, a little more tidiness might 1 This, as has been already shown, is an error ; he confounded St. Mor- wenna of Cornwall with St. Modwenna of Burton-on-Trent. At the " res- toration " frescoes were discovered throughout the church ; all but one were wantonly destroyed. THE CHANCEL 6l have been expected ; but his altar was never very clean, the top having strewn over it the burnt ends of matches with which he had lighted his candles. It had also on it a large magnifying glass, like those often on drawing-room tables, to assist in the examina- tion of photographs. For a long time Mr. Hawker used to say matins, litany and communion-service standing at his altar ; but in later years his curates introduced a reading-desk within the chancel near the screen. A deal kitchen-table likewise served for the furnishing of the chancel. On this he would put his mufflers and devotional books. The untidy condition of the church affected one of his curates, a man of a somewhat domineering character, to such an extent that one day he swept up all the rubbish he* could find in the church, old decorations of the previous Christmas, decayed southernwood and roses of the foregoing midsummer festivity, pages of old Bibles, prayer-books and manu- script scraps of poetry, match-ends, candle-ends, etc.; and, having filled a barrow with all these sundries, he wheeled it down to the vicarage door, rang the bell, and asked for Mr. Hawker. The vicar came into the porch. " This is the rubbish I have found in your church." " Not all," said Mr. Hawker. " Complete the pile by seating yourself on the top, and I will see to the whole being shot speedily." In the chancel is a vine, carved in wood, which creeps thence all along the church an emblem, according to him, of the Christian life. 62 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER Hearken ! there is in old Morwenna's shrine, A lonely sanctuary of the Saxon days, Reared by the Severn Sea for prayer and praise Amid the carved work of the roof, a vine. Its root is where the eastern sunbeams fal First in the chancel ; then along the wall Slowly it travels on, a leafy line, With here and there a cluster, and anon More and more grapes, until the growth hath gone Through arch and aisle. Hearken! and heed the sign. See at the altar-side the steadfast root, Mark well the branches, count the summer fruit : So let a meek and faithful heart be thine, And gather from that tree a parable divine. Formerly, whilst saying service he kept his chancel screen shut, and was invisible to his congregation ; but his curates afterwards insisted on the gate being left open. The chancel is very dark. Access to his pulpit was obtained through a nar- row opening in the screen just sixteen inches wide, and it was a struggle for him to get through the aperture. After a while he abandoned the attempt, and had steps into the pulpit erected outside the screen. Above the screen he set up in late years a large cross painted blue with five gold stars on it, the cross of the heavens in the southern hemisphere. Near the pulpit he erected a curious piece of wood- carving, gilt and coloured, which he brought with him from Tamerton. It represents a castle attacked by a dragon with two heads. From the mouth of a beardless face issues a dove, which is represented flying towards the castle. This, he said, was an THE MANNING BED 63 allegory. The castle is the Church assailed by Satan, the old dragon, through his twofold power, temporal and spiritual. But the Holy Spirit pro- ceeding from the Son flies to the defence of the Church. On the other side of the castle was origin- ally a bearded head, and a dove issuing in a similar manner from it ; but it has been broken away. This represented the Paraclete proceeding from the Father as from the Son. In the churchyard of Morwenstow is a granite tomb bearing the following inscription : HERE LIET JOHN MAKING OF . . WHO DIED WITHOUT ISSUE . . . I AM BERIED IN THE vi DAIE OF Av GVST 1601. John Manning of Stanbury, in Morwenstow, lived in the sixteenth century. He married Christiana Kempthorne. About six weeks after their marriage the husband was gored by a bull in a field between Tonacombe and Stanbury. His young bride died of grief within the year, and was buried in this altar tomb beside him. The bed of this ill-fated pair, with their names carved on the head-board, was found by Mr. Hawker in one of the farms in the parish. He was very anxious to get possession of it. He begged it, and when refused offered money, but to no avail : the farmer would not part with it. After trying per- suasion, entreaty, and offering large sums in vain, he had recourse to another expedient. The vicar said to the farmer : " Does it ever strike 64 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER you, S , when lying in that bed, as you do of a night, how many corpses have preceded you ? There was first of all poor John Manning, all dead and bloody, in 1601, his side ripped up by a bull's horns, just where you lie so snug of a night. Then there was his bride, Christiana, lying there, where your wife sleeps, sobbing away her life, dying of a broken heart. Just you think, John, when you lie there, of that poor lone woman, how her tears dribbled all night long over the pillow on which your wife's head rests. And one morning, when they came to look at her, SHE WAS DEAD. That was two hundred and fifty years ago. What a lot of corpses have occupied that bed, where you and your wife lie, since then ! Think of it, John, of a night, and tell your wife to do the same. I dare say the dead flesh has struck a chill into the bed, that the feel of it makes you creep all over at times at dead of night. Doesn't it, John ? Two hundred and fifty years ago ! That is about five generations five men washed and laid out, their chins tied up on your pillow, John, and their dead eyes looking up at your ceiling ; and five wives dead and laid out there too, and measured for their coffins, just where your wife sleeps so warm. And then, John, consider, it's most likely some of these farmers were married again, so we may say there were at least six or seven female corpses, let alone dead babies, in that bed. Why, John, there have been at least fourteen corpses in that bed, including John Manning bleeding to death, and Christiana weeping her life away. Think of that of a night. You will find it conducive to good." THE YELLOW PONCHO 65 " Parson," said the farmer aghast, " I can never sleep in that bed no more. You may take it, and welcome." So Mr. Hawker got the Manning bed, and set it up in the room that commanded the tomb in the churchyard ; " so that the bed may look at the grave, and the grave at the bed," as he expressed it. The writer in The Standard, already quoted, thus describes his &fst acquaintance with the vicar of Morwenstow : It was on a solemn occasion that we first saw Morwenstow. The sea was still surly and troubled, with wild lights breaking over it, and torn clouds driving through the sky. Up from the shore, along a narrow path between jagged rocks and steep banks tufted with thrift, came the vicar, wearing cassock and surplice, and conducting a sad procession, which bore along with it the bodies of two seamen flung up the same morning on the sands. The office used by Mr. Hawker at such times had been arranged by himself not without reference to certain peculiarities, which, as he conceived, were features of the primitive Cornish Church, the same which had had its bishops and its traditions long before the conference of Augustine with its leaders under the great oak by the Severn. Indeed, at one time he carried his adhesion to these Cornish traditions to some unusual lengths. There was, we remember, a peculiar yellow vestment, in which he appeared much like a Lama of Thibet, which he wore in his house and about his parish, and which he insisted was an exact copy of a priestly robe worn by St. Padarn and St. Teilo. We have seen him in this attire proceeding through the lanes on the back of a well-groomed mule the only fitting beast, as he remarked, for a Church- man. We have here one instance out of many of the manner in which thevicar delighted in hoaxingvisitors. 66 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER The yellow vestment in question was a poncho. It came into use in the following manner : Mr. Martyn, a neighbour, was in conversation one day with Mr. Hawker, when the latter complained that he could not get a greatcoat to his fancy. " Why not wear a poncho ? " asked Mr. Martyn. " Poncho ! what is that ? " inquired the vicar. "Nothing but a blanket with. a hole in the middle." " Do you put your legs through the hole, and tie the four corners over your head ? " " No," answered Mr. Martyn. " I will fetch you my poncho, and you can try it on." The poncho was brought : it was a dark blue one, and the vicar was delighted with it. There was no trouble in putting it on. It suited his fancy amazingly ; and next time he went to Bideford he bought a yellowish-brown blanket, and had a hole cut in the middle, through which to thrust his head. " I wouldn't wear your livery, Martyn," said he, " nor your political colours, so I have got a yellow poncho." Those who knew him well can picture to them- selves the sly twinkle in his eye as he informed his credulous visitor that he was invested in the habit of St. Padarn and St. Teilo. After a few years at Morwenstow in a hired house, the vicar set to work to build himself a vicarage near the church. He chose a spot where he saw lambs take shelter from storm ; not so much because he thought the spot a " lew " one (that is, a sheltered one), as from the fancy that the refuge of the lambs THE VICARAGE 67 should typify the vicarage, the sheltering-place of his flock. Whilst he was building it Mr. Daniel King came over to see him, and was shown the house in course of erection. Mr. Daniel King and Mr. Hawker were not very cordial friends. " Ha ! " said Mr. King, " you know the proverb ' Fools build houses for wise men to live in.' ' "Yes," answered the vicar promptly; "and I know another ' Wise men make proverbs, and fools quote them.' ' He had the chimneys of the vicarage built to re- semble the towers of churches with which he had had to do : one was like Tamerton, another like Mag- dalen Hall, a third resembled Wellcombe, a fourth Morwenstow. When Archdeacon, afterwards Bishop, Wilberforce came into the neighbourhood to advocate the cause of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, he met Mr. Hawker. "Look here," said Archdeacon Wilberforce, "I have to speak at the meeting at Stratton to-night, and I am told that there is a certain Mr. Knight* who will be on the platform, and is a wearyful speaker. I have not much time to spare. Is it possible by a hint to reduce him to reasonable limits? " " Not in the least : he is impervious to hints." " Can he not be prevented from rising to address the meeting? " " That is impossible : he is irrepressible." " Then what is to be done ? " " Leave him to me, and he will not trouble you." 68 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER At the S.P.G. meeting a crowd had gathered to hear the eloquent speaker. Mr. Tom Knight was on the platform, waiting his opportunity to rise. " Oh, Knight ! " said Mr. Hawker in a whisper, "the archdeacon has left his watch behind, and mine is also at home ; will you lend yours for timing the speeches? " With some hesitation Mr. Knight pulled his gold repeater, with bunch of seals attached, from his fob, and gave it to the vicar of Morwenstow. Presently Mr. Knight was on his legs to make a speech. Now, the old gentleman was accustomed, when addressing a public audience, to swing his bunch of seals round and round in his left hand. Directly he began his oration, his hand went instinc- tively to his fob in quest of the bunch : it was not there. He stammered, and felt again, floundered in his speech, and, after a few feeble efforts to recover himself, and find his bunch of seals, sat down, red and melting and angry. Mr. Hawker had a pair of stags which he called Robin Hood and Maid Marian, given to him by the late Sir Thomas Acland, from his park at Killerton. These he kept in the long open combe in front of the house, through which a stream dashes onwards to the sea. One day the same Mr. Knight proceeded too curiously to approach Robin Hood, when the deer ran at him and butted him down. The clergy- man shrieked with fear, and the stag would have struck him with his antlers had not the vicar rushed to the rescue. Being an immensely strong man, he caught Robin by the horns, and drew his head back, THE STAG, ROBIN HOOD 69 and held him fast whilst the frightened man crawled away. " I was myself in some difficulty," said Mr. Hawker, when telling the story. " The stag would have turned on me when I let go, and I did not quite see my way to escape ; but that wretched man did nothing but yell for his wig and hat, which had come off and were under the deer's feet ; as if my life were of no account beside his foxy old wig and battered beaver." Dr. Phillpotts, the late Bishop of Exeter, not long after this occurred, came to Morwenstow to visit Mr. Hawker. Whilst being shown the landscape from the garden, the bishop's eye rested on Robin Hood. "Why! that stag which butted and tossed Mr. Knight is still suffered to live ! It might have killed him." " No great loss, my lord," said Mr. Hawker. " He is very Low Church." Early next morning loud cries for assistance pene- trated the vicar's bedroom. Looking from his win- dow, he beheld the bishop struggling with Robin Hood, who, like his fellow of .Sherwood, seems to have had little respect for episcopal dignity. Robin had taken a fancy to the bishop's apron, and, gently approaching, had secured one corner in his mouth. There is a story of a Scottish curate, who, when Jenny Geddes seized him by his " prelatical " gown as he was passing into the pulpit, quietly loosed the strings, and allowed Jenny and the gown to fall back- ward together. There was no such luck for the bishop. He sought in vain to unfasten the apron, which descended farther and farther into Robin's 70 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER throat, until the vicar, coming to the rescue, restored the apron to daylight, and sent the " masterful thief" about his business. Mr. Hawker accompanied the late Bishop of Exeter on his first visit to Tintagel, and delighted in telling how the scene, then far more out of the world than it can now be considered, impressed the powerful mind of Dr. Phillpotts. He stood alone for some time on the extreme edge of the castle cliff, while the sun went down before him in the tumbling, foam- ing Atlantic a blaze of splendour, flaking the rocks and ruined walls with orange and carmine ; and as he turned away he muttered the line from Zanga : I like this rocking of the battlements. Another visitor to Morwenstow was the Poet Laureate ; he presented himself at the door, and sent in his card, and was received with cordiality and hos- pitality by the vicar, who, however, was not sure that the stranger was the poet. After lunch they walked together on the cliffs, and Mr. Hawker pointed to the Tonacombe Brook forming a cascade into the sea. " Falling like a broken purpose," he observed. "You are quoting my lines," said the Poet Laureate. "And thus it was," as Mr. Hawker said when relating the incident, "that I learned whom I was entertaining." He flattered himself that it was he who had introduced the Arthurian cycle of legends to Tennyson's notice. Charles Kingsley also owed to Mr. Hawker his first introduction to scenery which he afterwards rendered famous. Stowe and Chapel, places which VISITORS 71 figured so largely in Westward Ho ! were explored by them together ; and the vicar of Morwenstow was struck, as every one must have been struck who ac- companied Mr. Kingsley under similar circumstances, by the wonderful insight and skill which seized at once on the most characteristic features of the scene, and found at the instant the fitting words in which to describe them. Mr. Hawker, for his own part, not only did this for his own corner of Cornwall, but threw into his prose and his poetry the peculiar feeling of the district, the subtle aroma which, in less skilful hands, is apt to vanish altogether. His ballads found their way into numerous publi- cations without his name being appended to them, and sometimes were fathered on other writers. In a letter to T. Carnsew, Esq., dated 2nd January, 1858, he says as much. MY DEAR SIR, A happy New Year to yours and you, and many of them ! as we say in the West. The kind interest you have taken in young Blight's book l induces me to send you the royal reply to my letter. Through Col. Phipps to the Queen I sent a simple statement of the case, and asked leave for the youth to be allowed to dedicate his forthcoming book to the Duke of Cornwall. I did not, between ourselves, expect to succeed, because no such thing has hitherto been permitted, and also because I was utterly unknown, thank God, at Court. But it has been always my fate to build other people's houses. For others I usually succeed ; for myself, always fail. Let me tell you one strange thing. Every year of my life for full ten years I have had to write to some publisher, editor or author, to claim the paternity of a legend or a ballad or a page of prose, 1 Ancient Crosses in Cornwall, by J. T. Blight. Penzance, 1858. 72 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER which others have been attempting to foist on the public as their own. Last year I had to rescue a legendary ballad " The Sisters of Glennecten " from the claims of a Mr. H. of Exe- ter College. 1 Yesterday I wrote for the January number of Blackwood, wherein I see published " The Bells of Bottreaux," a name and legend which, if any one should claim, I say with Jack Cade, " He lies, for I invented it myself! " "The Silent Tower of Bottreaux" is one of his best ballads. To the poem he appends the following note : 2 " The rugged heights that line the seashore in the neighbourhood of Tintagel Castle and Church are crested with towers. Among these, that of Bottreaux Castle, or, as it is now written, Boscastle, is without bells. The silence of this wild and lonely church- yard on festive or solemn occasions is not a little striking. On inquiring as to the cause, the legend related in the text was told me, as a matter of implicit belief in those parts." THE SILENT TOWER OF BOTTREAUX. Tintagel bells ring o'er the tide : The boy leans on his vessel's side ; He hears that sound, and dreams of home Soothe the wild orphan of the foam. " Come to thy God in time ! " Thus saith their pealing chime : " Youth, manhood, old age, past, Come to thy God at last ! " 1 The mysterious sisters really lived and died in North Devon. Mr. Hawker transplanted the story to St. Knighton's Kieve. Any attempt in prose or verse to associate these sisters with Glennectan he afterwards resented as a literary theft. 2 Ecclesia : a volume of poems. Oxford, 1840. Really, the church of Forrabury on the height above Boscastle, which is a hamlet in the parish of Forrabury. THE SILENT TOWER OF BOTTREAUX 73 But why are Bottreaux's echoes still ? Her tower stands proudly on the hill : Yet the strange chough that home hath found, The lamb lies sleeping on the ground. " Come to thy God in time ! " Should be her answering chime. " Come to thy God at last ! " Should echo on the blast. The ship rode down with courses free, The daughter of a distant sea : Her sheet was loose, her anchor stored, The merry Bottreaux bells on board. " Come to thy God in time ! " Rang out Tintagel chime. " Youth, manhood, old age, past, Come to thy God at last ! " The pilot heard his native bells Hang on the breeze in fitful swells. " Thank God 1 " with reverent brow he cried : " We make the shore with evening's tide." " Come to thy God in time ! " It was his marriage-chime. Youth, manhood, old age, past, His bell must ring at last. Thank God, thou whining knave, on land ! But thank at sea, the steersman's hand, The captain's voice above the gale, Thank the good ship and ready sail. " Come to thy God in time ! " Sad grew the boding chime, " Come to thy God at last 1 " Boomed heavy on the blast. Up rose that sea, as if it heard The mighty Master's signal word. What thrills the captain's whitening lip ? The death-groans of his sinking ship ! 74 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER " Come to thy God in time ! " Swung deep the funeral chime. " Grace, mercy, kindness, past, Come to thy God at last ! " Long did the rescued pilot tell, When grey hairs o'er his forehead fell, While those around would hear and weep, That fearful judgment of the deep. " Come to thy God in time ! " He read his native chime : Youth, manhood, old age, past, His bell rung out at last ! Still, when the storm of Bottreaux's waves Is wakening in his weedy caves, Those bells that sullen surges hide Peal their deep notes beneath the tide. " Come to thy God in time ! " Thus saith the ocean chime : " Storm, billow, whirlwind, past, Come to thy God at last ! " I may be allowed, as this is a gossiping book, here to tell a story of Boscastle, which came to my ears when staying there a few years ago, and which is true. There lived at Boscastle, within twenty years, an old seafaring man whom we will call Daddy Tregel- las his real name has escaped me. A widow in the village died, leaving a fair young daughter of eighteen, very delicate and consumptive, without a home or relation. Daddy Tregellas had known the widow and felt great pity for the orphan, but how to help her he did not see. After much turning the matter over in his mind he thought the only way THE PET OF BOSCASTLE 75 in which he could make her a home and provide her with comforts without giving the gossips occasion to talk, was by marrying her. And married accord- ingly they were. The Boscastle people to this day tell of the tenderness of the old man for his young, delicate wife ; it was that of a father for a daughter, how he watched the carnation spots on her cheek with intense anxiety and listened with anguish to her cough ; how he walked out with her on the cliffs, wrapping shawls round her ; and sat in church with his eyes fixed on her whilst she sang, listened or prayed. The beautiful girl was his idol, his pet. She languished in spite of all his care. He nursed her through her illness like a mother, with his rough, brown hand as gentle as that of a woman. She died propped up in bed, with her chestnut hair flowing over his blue sailor's jersey, as he held her head on his breast. When he had laid his pet in Forrabury church- yard the light of his life was extinguished. The old man wandered about the cliffs all day, in sunshine and in storm, growing more hollow-cheeked and dull- eyed, his thin hair lank, his back bowed, speaking to no one and breaking slowly but surely. But Mr. Avery, the shipbuilder, about this time laid the keel of a little vessel, and she was reared in Boscastle haven. The new ship interested the old man, and when the figurehead was set up he fancied he traced in it a likeness to his dead wife. " It is it is the Pet," faltered the old man. The owner heard the exclamation and said : " So shall it be. She shall be called The Pet." 76 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER And now the old love, which had wound itself round the wife, began to attach itself to the little vessel. Every day the old man was on the quay watching the growth of The Pet ; he could not bear her out of his sight. When The Pet was ready to be launched Mr. Avery offered Tregellas the posi- tion of captain to her. The old man's joy was full ; he took the command and sailed for Bristol for coals. One stormy day, when a furious west wind was driving upon the land and bowling mountains of green water against the coast, it was noised that a vessel was visible scudding before the wind in dan- gerous proximity to the shore. The signal-rock was speedily crowded with anxious watchers. The coast- guardsman observed her attentively with his glass and said: "It is The Pet. The hatchways are all closed." Eyes watched her bounding through the waves, now on the summit of a huge green billow, now deep in its trough, till she was lost to sight in the rain and spondrift. That was the last seen of The Pet ; she, with old Daddy Tregellas and all on board, went to the bottom in that dreadful storm. Boscastle is a hamlet of quaint, gabled, weather- beaten cottages, inhabited by sailors, clinging to the steep sides of the hills that dip rapidly to the harbour, a mere cleft in the rocks, in shape like an S. The entrance is between huge precipices of black rock, one of them scooped out into a well ; it is the BOSCASTLE 77 resort of countless gulls, which breed along the ledges. The harbour is masked by an islet of rock covered by a meagre crop of sea-grass and thrift. Mr. Claud Hawker, the brother of the subject of this memoir, resided till his death at Penally in Boscastle. CHAPTER IV Mr. Hawker's Politics Election of 1857 His Zeal for the Labourers ' ' The Poor Man and his Parish Church " Letter to a Landlord Death of his Man, Tape Kindness to the Poor Verses over his Door Reckless Charity Hospitality A Breakdown His Eccentric Dress The Devil and his Barn His Ecclesiastical Vestments Ceremonial The Nine Cats The Church Garden Kindness to Animals The Rooks and Jackdaws The Well of St. John Letter to a Young Man entering the University. MR. HAWKER in politics, as far as he had any, was a Liberal ; and in 1857 he voted for Mr. Robartes, afterwards Lord Robartes. MARCH 26, 1857. My Dear Sir, Your mangold is remark- ably fine. I must, of course, visit Stratton, to vote for Robartes ; and I do wish I could be told how far a few votes would throw out Kendall by helping Carew, then I would give the latter one. If I can contrive to call at Flexbury, I will ; but Mrs. Hawker is so worried by bad eyes that she will not risk the roads. Last time we were annoyed by some rascals, who came after the carriage, shouting, " Kendall and protection ! " It will be a dark infamy for Cornwall if Nick, the traitor to every party, should get in. Tom S has been out to-day, blustering for Nick, but, when asked what party he belonged to, could not tell. How should he ? A note from M to-night, dated Bude, informs me that he is there. I am glad to find that, though not yet registered as a Cornish voter, his heart and wishes are for Robartes. It will always be to me a (78) MR. HAWKER'S POLITICS 79 source of pride, that I was the first, or well-nigh, I think, the only clergyman in this deanery who voted for a Free-trade candidate. Yours, my dear sir, faithfully, R. S. HAWKER. J. CARNSEW, Esq. ... I cannot conclude without a word about the mighty theme of elections. When Carew's address arrived, and I read it to Mrs. Hawker, her remark was : " It doesn't ring well." Nor did it. There were sneaky symptoms about it. S writes that " sinister influence, apart from political, has been brought to bear against Carew." We save a breakfast by this ; for Mrs. Hawker had announced her intention to give one, as she did last time, to Mr. Robartes' voters ; and I save what is to me important a ride. When I was in Oxford, there was a well-known old man, Dr. Crowe, public officer, etc. He had risen from small beginnings, and therefore he was a man of mind. Somewhat rough, and so much the better, as old wine is. Him the young, thoughtless fellows delighted to tease after dinner in the common-room, over their wine at New College. (N.B. The rumour used to run, that, when the fellows of the college retired from the hall, the butler went before, with a warming-pan, which he passed over the seat of every stuffed chair, that the reverend fogies might not catch cold as they sat down.) Well, one day, said a junior to old Crowe : " Do you know, Dr. C., what has happened to Jem Ward ? " " No, not I. Is he hanged ? " " Oh, no I they say he is member of Parliament." "Well, what of that?" "Oh, but consider what a thing for a fellow like that to get into the House of Commons such a blackguard ! " " And pray, young man, where should a blackguard go, but into the House of Commons, eh?" Good-night, dear sir, good-night. Yours faithfully, R. S. HAWKER. But Mr. Hawker's sympathies were by no means bound up with one party. He was as enthusiastic in 1873 for the return of a Conservative member for 80 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER Exeter, as he had been in 1857 for that of a Free- trade candidate for East Cornwall. MORWENSTOW, Dec. ii, 1873. My dear Mr, and Mrs. Mills, The good tidings of your success in Exeter has only just arrived in our house ; and I make haste to congratulate you, and to express our hearty sympathy with Mr. Mills' great triumph. Only yesterday Mr. M was here, and we were discussing the probabilities and chances of the majority. I had heard from Powderham Castle that the contest would be severe, and the run close ; but every good man's wishes and sympathies were with Mr. Mills. I hope that God will bless and succour him, and make his election an avenue of good and usefulness to his kind, which I am sure you both will value beyond the mere honour and rank. Our men heard guns last night, but could not decide whether the sound came from Bude or Lundy. But to-day I heard there were great and natural rejoicings around your Efford home. How you must have exulted also at your husband's strong position in London, and at the School Board ! He must have been very deeply appreciated there, and will, of course, succeed to the chairmanship of his district. You will be sorry to hear that Mr. R J has disappointed us, and will not be back again until after Christmas. So, although I am so weak that I can hardly stagger up to the church, and I incur deadly risk, I must go through my duty on Sunday. Our dutiful love to you both. I am, yours ever faithfully, R. S. HAWKER. It was his intense sympathy with the poor that constituted the Radicalism in Mr. Hawker's opinions. A thorough-going Radical he was not, for he was filled with the most devoted veneration for the Crown and Constitution ; but his tender heart bled for the labourer, whom he regarded as the sufferer through J A clergyman on whom he had calculated for his assistance in his services. APPEAL FOR THE LABOURERS 81 protection, and he fired up at what he regarded as an injustice. When he broke forth into words, it was with the eloquence and energy of a prophet. What can be more vigorous and vehement than the following paper, which he wrote in 1861 ? There are in Morwenstow about six thousand acres of arable land, rented by seventy farmers ; forty large, and thirty small. There are less than sixty able-bodied labourers, and twenty- five half-men, at roads, etc. With this proportion of one labourer to a hundred acres, there can be no lack of employ. The rate of wages is eight shillings a week, paid, not in money, but by truck of corn. A fixed agreement of a hundred and thirty-five pounds of corn, or eighteen gallons (commonly called seven scores), is allotted to each man in lieu of fourteen shillings, be the market price what it will. A man with a wife and three or four children will consume the above quantity of corn in fourteen days. Therefore, such a man, receiving for his fortnight's work fourteen shillings' worth of corn, will only leave in his master's hand one shilling a week, which one shilling usually is paid for house-rent. Now, this inevitable outlay for the loaf and for the rent will leave for fuel, for shoes, for clothing, for groceries, for tools, for club . . . nil : ol. os. od. But, but. But in the year 1860-61, the fourteen shillings paid for that corn will only yield in flour and meal ten shillings and sixpence, the millers being judges. " If a man have only a wife and two children to house and feed, his surplus money above his bread and rent will be one shilling (?) a week beyond the above example." But, but, in the recited list of exigencies, will that suffice ? It was from a knowledge of the state of the parish, that I assented to the collection, of which I enclose a statement. 6 82 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER Two farmers only had the audacity to allege that the effort was uncalled for ; and a labourer of one of these must have gone barefooted to his work the whole winter, had not the money for a pair of shoes been advanced to him by the victim of the parish. It appears to be a notion entertained by a chief patron of all our charities, that the wages and the treatment of the labourers in Kilkhampton are more favourable than in Mor- wenstow. But, but, but What is the weekly wage ? How paid ? If in corn, at what price ? And are there contracts in other respects ? These are not questions which I want to be answered, but only questions for your own private consideration. A letter narrating the success of this appeal is in my hands, and may find a place here. FEB. 21, 1861. My dear Sir, I have postponed replying to your last letter until I could acquaint you with the progress or result of the subscriptions to the poor. Lord J. Thynne has given five pounds ; Mr. Dayman, three pounds ; Messrs. Cann and Harris, churchwardens, one pound each ; other parishion- ers, about three or four pounds. So that we shall divide twenty-five pounds and upwards among the really destitute. I am much obliged to you for your readiness to allow my influence to count with that of others in the parish ; but the reference in my letter to the churchwardens was to the past, and not altogether to the future. Be this as it may, when Moses languishes, manna falls, thank God ! You will be sorry to hear that Mrs. H is very ill. Her attack is so full of peril, and demands such incessant medical succour, that Capt. H resolved on removing her while she could be moved to London, to the charge of her accustomed doctor ; and thither they went last Monday. Our loss is deep. It was indeed a gift from God to have a thorough lady and gentleman in the parish to appreciate the utterance of truth,, and the effects of duty : it was indeed a. happiness, and. it is "THE POOR MAN AND HIS PARISH CHURCH" 83 now gone. Mrs. H had taken great trouble with our choir. Every Thursday evening she has allowed them to come to learn the musical scale, and they were fast learning to read and sing the notes. We have been visited of late by the new kind of hurricane, the KVK.\