# A Book of the West/Volume 2/12

CHAPTER XII.
THE TWO LOOKS
EAST and West Looe, separated by a tidal stream, the Looe (the same as Liffey from Welsh llifo to flow, llif a flood), and united by a long bridge, at one time returned four members to Parliament.
East Looe is the more considerable place of the two, and possesses a new and respectable Guildhall, and some quaint old houses and an ancient picturesque market -house. The church is modern and poor of its kind—one of those structures that do not convey an idea to the mind of either beauty or of ugliness, but are mediocre in conception and execution. It occupies the site of an earlier church dedicated to S. Keyne, but it is now dedicated to S. Anne, who formerly had a chapel on the bridge.
The streets are narrow and full of quaint bits. As ​ I first saw Looe it struck me as one of the oddest old-world places in England. A man had been there selling paper flags and coloured streamers also of paper, and the children in the narrow alleys were fluttering these, and had hung them from the windows, and were dancing with coloured paper caps on their heads or harlequin sashes about their bodies, whilst an Italian organ-grinder played to them. From the narrow casements leaned their mothers, watching, laughing, and encouraging the dancers. A little way back was a booth theatre, hardly up to the level of that of Mr. Vincent Crummel's, enclosed in dingy green canvas. Re- served seats, 6d.; back seats, 3d. and 1d. The répertoire comprised blood-curdling tragedies. I went in and saw "The Midnight Assassin; or, The Dumb Witness."
Next evening was to be given "The Vampire's Feast; or, The Rifled Tomb." The tragedy was followed by Allingham's play, "Fortune's Frolick" (1799), adapted to the narrow capacities of the company. It was performed in broad Cornish, and interspersed with some rather good and, I fancy, original songs. But surely nowhere else but at Looe could such a reminiscence of the old strolling company-show of fifty or sixty years ago be seen.
But this is not all. A stranger having seen something I wrote about puppet-shows in a paper, wherein I said that the last I had sat through was sixty years ago, wrote to me:—
"At West Looe, far more recently, at the annual fair, which commences on the 6th May, I saw a show in which ​the figures were all moved by strings manipulated from above. I regret that I am unable to remember the subject of the play, but the droll antics of the puppets, the rapidity of their movements, and the cleverness of the whole thing, remains distinctly impressed on my mind."
I believe that venerable amusements we old folks saw in our childhood are "resurrected" at West Looe at that 6th May fair. Therefore, if you want to see funny things, go there. The place is still out of the world, but will not long be so, as a London company has bought the cliffs, and is blasting a road in them to make promenade, hotel, and bring the world and the twentieth century to Looe and rumple up the old place.
East Looe is properly in S. Martin's parish, and the church was a chapel-of-ease to it. At S. Martin's are a Norman doorway and an early font. West Looe has a little church, dedicated to S. Nicholas, that long served as town hall and as a theatre for strolling players. Here also are some quaint old slated houses; the "valleys" are not leaded, but the slates are so worked as to fold over the angles very ingeniously and picturesquely, and admirably answering the object in view of carrying off the water.
Off the coast lies Looe Island. This was for many years the dwelling-place of a man named Fyn and his sister, "Black Joan." They were son and daughter of an outlaw, who had spent his life since his outlawry on the Mewstone off Gara Point, at the entrance of Plymouth Sound. Here he and his wife lived a wild life like sea-mews, and there reared ​ their young, who grew up without any religious, moral, or intellectual training. The outlaw died on the Mewstone, and Fyn and his sister, accustomed from infancy to an island life, could not endure the thought of going to the mainland for the rest of their days, and so they settled on Looe Island. Here they were joined by a negro, and by their united efforts honeycombed the ground under their hovel and the large barn adjoining for the accommodation of smuggled goods. Their only associates were these free-traders.
One day the black man vanished, and it was never known what had become of him, whether he had left or been murdered by Fyn and his sister. There were naturally no witnesses; nothing could be proved against them. Recently a skull has been dug up near the house, and is kept in a box in the dwelling, but it is not that of a negro. Actually there is a layer of human remains about two feet below the surface of the turf, exposed on the east side of the island, where wind and spray are gnawing away the cliff, and any number of teeth and bones may be picked out. Whether these are the remains of an early Christian monastic cemetery, or of shipwrecked sailors buried on the cliffs, cannot be told, as no investigation has been made to discover the approximate period to which this layer of dead men's bones belongs.
​ But to return to the Fyns.
On that island they spent many years, hand in glove with the smugglers.
There was an old fellow, a farmer on the mainland, who rode a white horse into Looe. He acted as spy, and was intimate with the preventive men, who trusted him, and perhaps some of them had their palms greased to give him information. If the white horse were seen returning along the coast road to the west, that was a signal to Fyn that all was safe. But sometimes the horse was too lame or tired to return home, and the farmer went his way on foot; that always coincided with activity among the officers of the revenue.
From Looe Island, Fyn or his sister signalled by lights to the smugglers lying in the offing. At length their daring and their success induced the Government to establish one of their guard on the island itself—the station is still there—and the man was bidden keep a watchful eye on Black Joan and her brother.
Now the Fyns had their secret stores full of a cargo they desired to run ashore, but were afraid of being seen by this man.
​ Being a good-natured man, and suspecting no ill, he at once got into his own boat and rowed hard after that which was adrift. The moment he was gone, a swarm of boats and men appeared on the shore on the further side of the island, and before the fellow was back, every keg had been carried across to the mainland.
But the officer in command had great difficulties with the station on Looe Isle. Partly through Black Joan's fascinations, mainly through the liberal flow of drink at the hut of the Fyns, and the tedium of the long evenings in solitude, he could never rely on a man who was sent to Looe Island. In some way or other he was bamboozled, so that goods were landed there and transferred to the mainland almost as freely as formerly.
What was the end of this family I have not learned.
A few years ago, when a picnic party went to the island and were allowed the barn to feed in, as a drizzle had come on, suddenly the floor collapsed, and it was thus discovered that beneath was a cellar for the accommodation of spirits that were not intended to pay duty.
The East and the West Looe rivers unite above the bridge, where also formerly stood a most picturesque tidal mill. Each stream runs through a narrow, well-wooded valley, and passes points of some interest. Ascending the East Looe, we have on the right the creek of Morval with the ancient house of the Bullers. Further up on the left is Duloe, with S. Cuby's holy well, and a so-called Druidical ​ circle. The place takes its name from being between the two Looes. Higher up again on the same side is S. Keyne, with an interesting church and a well, the story of which is sufficiently known, made the subject of a ballad by Southey.
Liskeard is a town that was surmounted by a castle that has now disappeared. Its name implies that it was a lis or court on a rock. A copious spring, once a holy well, pours forth from the rock and supplies the town. But no ancient masonry remains about it.
Liskeard Church has an interesting lych-gate, a fine tower, and a good pulpit of 1627. At Menheniot (Maen-hen-Niot, the old stone of S. Neot) are some fine camps, Padesbury and Blackaton Rings. Clicker Tor, under which runs the line, is an outcrop of ser- pentine, which stone does not reappear till the Lizard is reached. A visit to S. Neot, with its superb old windows, should on no account be omitted. No collection of ancient stained glass comparable to it exists elsewhere in Devon or Cornwall.
The West Looe flows past several camps, two of which are in Pelynt parish. The church here is dedicated to S. Nun, mother of S. David, and her gabled holy well remains in tolerable condition. In this parish also is Trelawne, the seat of the Trelawny family, an ancient house, but much modernised. It contains some fine portraits, and in the church is a model of the pastoral staff of Bishop Jonathan Trelawny, one of the non-juring prelates who were turned out of their sees on the accession of Dutch William. He was one of the seven bishops who had ​ been committed to the Tower by James II. Of him the song was sung:—
"A good sword and trusty sword!
A merry heart and true!
King James's men shall understand
What Cornish lads can do!
"And have they fixed the where and when ?
And shall Trelawny die ?
There 's twenty thousand Cornish men
Will know the reason why.
"Out spake their captain brave and bold,
A merry wight was he ;
If London Tower were Michael's hold,
We'll set Trelawny free !
"We'll cross the Tamar, land to land.
The Severn is no stay—
With One and All and hand in hand,
And who shall bid us nay ?
"And when we come to London Wall,
A pleasant sight to view.
Come forth ! come forth ! ye cowards all,
Here 's men as good as you.
"Trelawny he 's in keep and hold,
Trelawny he may die—
But twenty thousand Cornish bold
Will know the reason why!"
With the exception of the choral lines—
"And shall Trelawny die?
Here's twenty thousand Cornishmen
Will know the reason why!"
the rest is mainly, if not wholly, the composition of the late Rev. R. S. Hawker, of Morwenstow. It was written by him in 1825, and was printed first in a Plymouth paper, and then by Mr. Davies ​ Gilbert, the antiquary and historian. It appeared in the Gentleman's Magazine of November, 1827. Sir Walter Scott, and later. Lord Macaulay, quite thought it was a genuine ancient ballad.
That it is not an antique is almost certain, as it [has no local and original air to which it is set ; it is sung to "Le Petit Tambour," and no old miners or labourers know it.
There is a novel by Mrs. Bray, Trelawny of Trelawne, written in 1834, that relates to this house, and by no means deserves to be forgotten. Mrs. Bray's novels, though old-fashioned, are guides to the neighbourhood of Tavistock, and that just mentioned interests the reader in the district about Trelawne.
"Looe," says she, "beautiful as it is, is not to be compared to Polperro, two miles distant from Trelawne. The descent to it is so steep, that I, who was not accustomed to the path, could only get down by clinging to Mr. Bray's arm for support; it was slippery, and so rocky that in some places there were steps cut in the road for the convenience of the passenger. The view of the little port, the old town in the bottom (if town it can be called), the cliffs, and the spiked rocks, that start up in the wildest and most abrupt manner, breaking the direct sweep of the waves towards the harbour, altogether produced such a combination of magnificent coast scenery as may truly be called sublime."
Access to Polperro is very much easier than it was in 1833, when visited by Mrs. Bray. A good many of the quaint old houses have been pulled ​
down, but the place is still eminently picturesque, and is a haunt of artists.
In 1807, the year of the treacherous peace of Tilsit, privateering was carried on briskly at Polperro. Among other vessels, the Lord Nelson sailed from this port, manned by a crew of hardy and experienced sailors. After cruising in the Channel for a week without success, she put into Falmouth for provisions. Here she was boarded by the Recruit, and several of the men were impressed. Amongst these was one Robert Jeffrey, who had been brought up as a blacksmith by his stepfather. The Recruit was a sloop-of-war commanded by Captain Lake, which at once sailed for the West Indies. Whilst cruising in the Caribbean Sea, Jeffrey got at a barrel of spruce beer. The captain, very angry, ordered the boat to be lowered, and Jeffrey to be taken to a barren rock and left there.
The order was obeyed with some reluctance, and the poor young fellow was deserted on the rock, without food, and with nothing save a kerchief, a knife, and a piece of wood, which had been given him by his comrades for the purpose of signalling any passing ship.
The place on which he had been left was the islet of Sombrero, one of the Leeward group, desolate and treeless, a naked lump of rock, with no springs. Jeffrey suffered frightfully from hunger, and worse from thirst.
The Recruit, on leaving the island, steered for Barbadoes to join the squadron under the command of Admiral Sir Alexander Cochrane. The story ​ of Jeffrey's punishment got wind, and the admiral, hearing of it, severely reprimanded Captain Lake for his brutality, and ordered him to return to Sombrero and rescue Jeffrey if he were still alive. Captain Lake accordingly went back to the islet, but found no one on it. A pair of trousers (not Jeffrey's) and a tomahawk handle were the only vestiges of humanity discoverable. The admiral was satisfied that the poor fellow had been rescued by some passing ship, and let the matter rest.
The story was, however, so widely circulated, that on his return to England Captain Lake was courtmartialled and cashiered.
Whilst this was passing, the greatest uncertainty existed as to the man's fate. His wrongs were commented on in the House by Sir Francis Burdett, and the case was kept so perseveringly before the public, that the Government issued orders for a strict inquiry to be made as to whether he were still alive or dead.
Presently an account was received, purporting to be by Jeffrey, giving an account of his rescue and his condition in America; but as to this was appended a cross for his signature, whereas Jeffrey was known to have been able to write, the public were led to suspect that this was a fabrication contrived by Lake's relatives and friends.
To settle the matter finally, a ship was despatched to bring Jeffrey home, and he arrived at Portsmouth in October, 1810, three years after his adventure on the island of Sombrero.
His escape had been due to his signals of distress ​having been seen and responded to by the captain of an American schooner, but when taken on board he was too exhausted to speak. He was conveyed to Marblehead, in Massachusetts, where he had remained working at a forge, and had culpably neglected to send home word of his escape. The reason he gave for not having signed the paper relative to his being taken off Sombrero was that it was presented to him by gentlemen, and he was too nervous in their presence to append his proper signature.
There was vast rejoicing at Polperro on his return. Almost the whole village turned out to welcome him, with a band playing and flags flying. He was then persuaded to let himself be made a public show, and hired himself out at some of the minor London theatres to be exhibited as "Jeffrey the Sailor." After a few months he returned to Polperro with money in his pocket enough to purchase a small schooner intended for the coasting trade.
The speculation was unsuccessful. Jeffrey fell into consumption, and died leaving a wife and daughter in great poverty.
Polperro was also a notorious hole for smugglers. The last affair with them in which life was lost was in 1810, or thereabouts.
One morning a lugger was descried by the crew of the revenue boat, then stationed on shore. She was lying becalmed in Whitsand Bay. The glass informed them that it was the Lottery, of Polperro, well known for her fast sailing qualities, as well as ​ for the hardihood of her crew. There was little doubt that with the springing up of the breeze she would put to sea. Accordingly the officer in command, with all despatch, manned two or three boats and put off, making sure of a rare capture, for there seemed little chance of an escape.
Their movements were, however, observed by the smugglers, who made preparations for resistance. The boats, on seeing their intentions, commenced firing when at a considerable distance ; but it was not until they had approached her pretty near that the shots were returned from the lugger, which now assumed an unmistakable attitude of defiance. When within a few yards of the expected prize, Ambrose Bowden, who pulled the bow-oar of one of the attacking boats, fell mortally wounded.
It was plain that the Polperro men had come to a determination not to give up their fine craft and valuable cargo without a struggle, so the boats withdrew, and allowed the Lottery to proceed to sea. This affray was reported to the authorities, and orders were issued at all hazards to arrest the vessel and her crew. The smugglers were alarmed at what had been done, and at the dogged manner in which the officers of justice pursued them. They were kept continually concealed in pilchard cellars, in barns, in closets, and were liable at dead of night to have their houses surrounded and searched by a troop of dragoons, who made stealthy descents on the town.
At length a certain Toms, who had formed one of the crew of the Lottery, gave himself up, and declared that a man named Tom Potter had fired the fatal shot. ​ The Polperro people made common cause of this, and resolved at once to preserve Potter and to punish Toms. The revenue men knew the danger in which the latter stood, and they took him on board a cutter cruising off the coast.
On a certain occasion the cutter was off Polruan, when some of the Polperro men persuaded Toms' wife to decoy him on land, solemnly assuring her that they would not touch his life, and that all they desired was to remove the only evidence that existed against Potter.
She fell in with their wishes, and by her means Toms was seized and at once carried off, kept in hiding-places till an opportunity occurred, when he was shipped to Guernsey, preparatory to conveying him to America. But he was traced, and was pounced on by the Government officers in the hold of an outward-bound vessel.
Meanwhile the dragoons, who had been engaged in the search at home, discovered that their movements were observed, and that intelligence of their approach from Plymouth was sure to precede them to Polperro. A detachment was therefore sent to Truro, with orders to march from the west, in which way they were enabled to come on Polperro unobserved. On one of these visits Potter was captured. He was taken to London, tried at the Old Bailey, convicted on the evidence of Toms, and hanged. The evidence, however, was strongly believed to be false. The shot had entered the breast of Bowden in a direction opposite to the fire of the smugglers; and one of the coastguardsmen ​who were engaged in the affair averred that the unfortunate man Bowden was accidentally shot by one of his own crew.
Toms was never able to show his face again in Polperro, and a place was found for him in a menial capacity in Newgate, where he ended his days.
Lanreath stands between the Fowey and the Looe rivers, about midway. It has a fine church with a beautiful screen. Usually the paintings on these screens are mere daubs, but such as remain at Lanreath, though sadly defaced, show that there was at the end of the fifteenth or beginning of the sixteenth century a school of real artists in the West. Unhappily, only scanty remains of the paintings can be seen. A late rector is said to have proposed to scrape one half the screen if the parish would do the other half. Accordingly he effaced all the beautiful painted work of the portion between nave and chancel. The parish, however, did not like this sort of "restoration," and happily refused to complete the defacing of this work of art.
Court, near the church, is the old nest of the Grylls family, a picturesque mansion containing much of interest. It is in such a ruinous condition that it will have to be largely rebuilt, but the owner, Mr. T. H. Spry, purposes doing this in a thoroughly conservative spirit. The house contains one very handsome room with rich carved oak panelling.
Note.—Books to be consulted on Looe and Polperro:—
Bond (T. ), Topographical and Historical Sketches of East and West Looe. London, 1823.
Couch (T. Q.), The History of Polperro. Truro, 1871.
* ↑ There are two rivers Lew in West Devon and two in Wales. There is a Loue that flows into the Vezere. There is also Loe Pool by Helston; the root enters into lough or loch.
* ↑ A new edition was published by Longmans in 1845.