Cornish Characters and Strange Events

"His sister he finds married to a mercer, a meaner match than her birth promised. To her at first he appears a poor stranger, but in private reveals himself, and withall what jewels and gold he had concealed in a bow-case about him, and concluded that the next day he intended to appear to his parents, and to keep his disguise till she and her husband should meet, and make their common joy complete.

"Being come to his parents, his humble behaviour, suitable to his suit of clothes, melted the old couple to so much compassion as to give him covering from the cold season under their outward roof, and by degrees his travelling tales, told with passion to the aged people, made him their guest so long by the kitchen fire, that the husband took his leave and went to bed, and soon after, his true stories working compassion in the weaker vessel, she wept, and so did he; but, compassionate of her tears, he comforted her with a piece of gold, which gave assurance that he deserved a lodging, to which she brought him; and, being in bed, showed her his girdled wealth, which he said was sufficient to relieve her husband's wants, and to spare for himself, and being very weary, fell fast asleep.

"The wife, tempted with the golden bait of what she had, and eager of enjoying all, awakened her husband with this news, and her contrivance what to do; and though with horrid apprehensions he oft refused, yet her puling fondness (Eve's enchantments) moved him to consent, and rise to be master of all, and both of them to murder the man, which instantly they did, covering the corpse under the clothes till opportunity to convey it out of the way.

"The early morning hastens the sister to her father's house, when she, with signs of joy, enquires for a sailor that should lodge there the last night. The parents slightly denied to have seen such, until she told them that he was her brother, her lost brother. By that assured scar upon his arm, cut with a sword in his youth, she knew him, and were all resolved this morning to meet there and be merry.

"The father hastily runs up, finds the mark, and with horrid regret of this monstrous murder of his own son, with the same knife cuts his own throat.

"The wife went up to consult with him, when in a most strange manner beholding them both in blood, and aghast, with the instrument at hand, readily rips herself up, and perishes on the same spot.

"The daughter, doubting the delay of their absence, searches for them all, whom she found out too soon, and with the sad sight of this scene, and being overcome with horror and amaze of this deluge of destruction, she sank down and died; the fatal end of that family."

There are several points in this narrative that awaken mistrust. How is the story of the son's life known? He tells it to his sister, but she dies. Then we have an account of what went on in the house between the parents and the son, and the wife urging her husband to commit the murder. As both killed themselves on discovering what they had done, all this part must be painted in by guesswork.

That there is a substratum of fact cannot be doubted. The mysterious mutilation of the parish register for the year of the murder indicates a desire that the names might not be known.

Lillo turned the story into a tragedy, The Fatal Curiosity, 1736. According to him the name of the family was Wilmot. He took a slight liberty with the story, in that he made the returned sailor present himself to the girl he had loved fifteen years before, and not to his sister. But he laid the scene at Penryn.

MARY KELYNACK

The Kelynack family has been one of fishermen and seamen at Newlyn and its neighbourhood for many generations.

Philip Kelynack was the first to fly to the rescue of John Wesley when pursued by a mob while preaching on the Green between Newlyn and Penzance 12th July, 1747. He was a remarkably powerful man, and was known by the name of Old Bunger. His son Charles was the first to engage the Mount's Bay boatmen to take part in the Irish Sea fishing in 1720.

Mary, the subject of this notice, was the daughter of Nicholas Tresize and the wife of William Kelynack. She was born at Tolcarne, in Madron, 1766.

In 1851 was the Great Exhibition in London, and the tidings of opening of a Crystal Palace and the wonders that it contained reached to the extremity of Cornwall. Said Mary Kelynack, "I'll go and see'n too, I reckon!" and away she trudged.

The Illustrated London News for October 26th, 1851, gives the following account of her: —

"On Tuesday, September 24th, among the visitors of the Mansion House was Mary Callinack, eighty-four years of age, who had travelled on foot from Penzance, carrying a basket on her head, with the object of visiting the Exhibition and of paying her respects personally to the Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress. As soon as the ordinary business was finished the aged woman entered the justice-room, when the Lord Mayor, addressing her, said, 'Well, I understand, Mrs. Callinack, you have come to see me?'

"She replied, 'Yes, God bless you. I never was in such a place before as this. I have come up asking for a small sum of money, I am, sir.'

"The Lord Mayor: 'Where do you come from?'

"Mrs. C.: 'From the Land's End.'

"The Lord Mayor: 'From what part?'

"Mrs. C.: 'Penzance.'

"She then stated that she left Penzance five weeks ago, and had been the whole of that time walking to the metropolis.

"The Lord Mayor: 'What induced you to come to London?'

"Mrs. C.: 'I had a little matter to attend to as well as to see the Exhibition. I was there yesterday, and mean to go again to-morrow.'

"The Lord Mayor: 'What do you think of it?'

"Mrs. C.: 'I think it very good.'"

She then said that all her money was spent but 5-1/2d. After a little further conversation, which caused considerable merriment, the Lord Mayor made her a present of a sovereign, telling her to take care of it, there being a good many thieves in London. The poor creature, on receiving the gift, burst into tears and said, "Now I will be able to get back."

She was afterwards received by the Lady Mayoress, with whom she remained some time, and having partaken of tea in the housekeeper's room, which she said she preferred to the choicest wine in the kingdom (which latter beverage she had not tasted for sixty years), she returned thanks for the hospitality she had received and left the Mansion House.

Her next visit was to the Exhibition.

She was also presented to the Queen and to Prince Albert, and there is mention of this presentation in Sir Theodore Martin's Life of the Prince Consort (1876), II, p. 405.

In the notice in the Illustrated London News it is said: "Our portrait of the Cornish fish-wife has been sketched from life at her abode, Homer Place, Crawford Street, Mary-le-bone. She was born in the parish of Paul, by Penzance, on Christmas Day, 1766, so that she has nearly completed her eighty-fifth year. To visit the present Exhibition, she walked the entire distance from Penzance, nearly three hundred miles; she having 'registered a vow' before she left home, that she would not accept assistance in any shape, except as regarded her finances. She possesses her faculties unimpaired; is very cheerful, has a considerable amount of humour in her composition; and is withal a woman of strong common sense, and frequently makes remarks that are very shrewd, when her great age and defective education are taken into account. She is fully aware that she has made herself somewhat famous; and among other things which she contemplates, is her return to Cornwall, to end her days in 'Paul parish,' where she wishes to be interred by the side of old Dolly Pentreath, who was also a native of Paul, and died at the age of 102 years."

Mary Kelynack died in Dock Lane, Penzance, 5th December, 1855, and was buried in S. Mary's churchyard.

Messrs. Routledge published the story of her walk to London and back in one of Aunt Mavor's Storybooks, with illustrations.

CAPTAIN WILLIAM ROGERS

Captain William Rogers, son of Captain Rogers, who died in November, 1790, was born at Falmouth, 29th September, 1783. He married Susan, daughter of Captain John Harris, of S. Mawes. In 1807, Rogers was master, in temporary command of the Windsor Castle, a packet-boat from Falmouth to Barbados. She mounted six long 4-pounders and two 9-pounder carronades, with a complement of twenty-eight men and boys.

On October 1st, 1807, as the packet was on her passage to Barbados with the mails, a privateer schooner was seen approaching under all sail.

As it seemed quite impossible to escape, Captain Rogers resolved on making a stout resistance, though the odds against him were great. In fact, the privateer mounted six long 6-pounders and one long 18-pounder, with a complement of ninety-two men.

At noon the schooner got within gunshot, hoisted French colours, and opened fire, which was immediately returned from the chase-guns of the Windsor Castle. This was continued till the privateer, whose name was Le Jeune Richard, came near, when she hailed the packet in very opprobrious terms, and desired her to strike her colours. On meeting with a prompt refusal, the schooner ran alongside, grappled the packet, and attempted to board. But the crew of the Windsor Castle made so stout a resistance with their pikes that the French were obliged to abandon the attempt with the loss of ten killed and wounded. The privateer, finding she had a hard nut to crack, lost heart, and sought to cut away the grapplings and get clear; but the packet's mainyard, being locked in the schooner's rigging, held her fast.

Captain Rogers evinced great judgment and zeal in ordering some of his men to shift the sails as circumstances required, or to cut them away in the event of the privateer succeeding in the conflict.

At about 3 p.m. one of the packet's guns, a 1-pounder carronade, loaded with double grape, canister and a hundred musket balls, was brought to bear on the deck of the privateer, and was discharged at the moment when a fresh boarding party was collected for a second attempt. The result was a frightful slaughter, and as the French reeled under this discharge, Captain Rogers, followed by the men of his little crew, leaped upon the deck of the schooner, and notwithstanding the apparently overwhelming odds against him, succeeded in driving the privateer's men from their quarters, and ultimately in capturing the vessel.

Of the crew of the Windsor Castle three had been killed and two severely wounded; but of that of Le Jeune Richard there were twenty-one dead upon the deck, and thirty-three were wounded.

From the very superior number of the privateer's crew still remaining – thirty-eight men – whereas Captain Rogers had only fifteen available, great precautions had to be taken in securing the prisoners. They were accordingly ordered up from below, one by one, and each put in irons. Any attempt at a rescue being thus effectually guarded against, the packet proceeded, with her prize, to the port of her destination, which fortunately for the former was not far distant.

This achievement reflected the highest honour upon every officer, man, and boy that was on board the Windsor Castle, but especially on Captain Rogers. Had he stayed to calculate the chances that were against him, the probability is that the privateer would have ultimately succeeded in capturing the packet, whose light carronades could have offered very little resistance at the usual distance at which vessels engage; and where any small crew, without such a coup de main– indeed, without such a leader – could never have brought the combat to a favourable issue.

For his intrepid conduct Rogers received the thanks of H.M. Postmaster-General; promotion to the rank of captain, with command of another packet, 100 guineas besides his share of the prize (although no prize allowance was usual); the freedom of the City of London; and an illuminated address, with a sword of honour, from the inhabitants of Tortola.

In London, a gentleman named Dixon, unacquainted with Rogers, sought and obtained his friendship, and then commissioned Samuel Drummond to make a picture of the action, in which the hero's full-length portrait should appear. Whilst the painting was in progress, one day Rogers ran up against a man in the street so closely resembling the officer he had shot, that he held him by the button and begged as a favour that he would allow a distinguished artist to paint his portrait. The gentleman was not a little surprised, but when Rogers informed him who he was and why he desired to have him painted, he readily consented. He was conducted to the studio, and there stood as portrait-model for the French swordsman by whom Rogers had been so nearly cut down. When completed, the painting was retained by Mr. Dixon, but it was engraved in mezzotint by Ward.

The painting in course of time passed to the first owner's grandson, Mr. James Dixon, whose daughter at his decease in 1896 became possessed of it, and presented it to the nation, and it is now in the Painted Hall at Greenwich Hospital.

Captain Rogers died at Holyhead January 11, 1825. His and his wife's portraits were preserved by her relatives, and eventually given to the only surviving daughter or her descendants.

In Johns and Nicolas's Calendar of Victory, 1855, is an account of this sea-fight; also in the European Magazine of 1808, with a portrait of the gallant captain. Also in James's Naval History of Great Britain (1820), Vol. IV.

Rogers's own account, condensed, is to be found in a paper by Rev. W. Jago, "The Heroes of the Old Falmouth Packet Service," in the Journal of the Royal Institution of Cornwall, XIII, 1895-8.

JOHN BURTON, OF FALMOUTH

Joseph Burton, of Stockport, Lancashire, came, for what reason is unknown, to Cornwall in 1830, and set up a china and glass shop at Bodmin; and married at Launceston a Miss Clemo.

Old Joseph was a sturdy Radical and Nonconformist. He was a vigorous and loud supporter of the Ballot Society, the Liberation Society, and the United Kingdom Alliance. He was also a vehement and "intemperate" teetotaler. He died at Bodmin 19th July, 1876. John was one of a whole string of children, and as the "cloam" shop did not bring in a large profit, and John was one among many, he had to go into life very inefficiently equipped with education. But he had inherited from his father a masterful spirit, and had his own independent views, and it was soon a case between them of flint and steel, and sparks flew out.

John and his brother Joe were sent round the country hawking pots and glass.

"I well remember the 24th December, 1853," said John Burton. "Myself and brother Joe (who afterwards became a well-known auctioneer) rose at five o'clock in the morning, fed the horse, and made a start at 5.45 a.m. with a wagon-load of goods. The morning was dark, and when we came to Callywith turnpike gate it was closed. We knocked Henry Mark, the toll-keeper, up to let us through. He looked out of the window and at first refused to let us pass until daylight. We firmly told him that we would certainly unhang the gate and pass through without paying the toll. This fetched the old man down, with his long coat, knitted night-cap, with horn lantern in his hand. He opened the gate and told us, 'You Burtons ought to be poisoned for breaking a man's rest.' A lot we cared for his curses. Fairly on the road, we were as happy as sandboys. Having delivered the goods, and fairly on the way home, we stopped at the Jamaica Inn, where the old mail-coaches used to change their horses, to feed our horse, not forgetting ourselves. After giving old Dapper his feed of oats, we went into the inn kitchen, where we ordered a hot meal. The landlady asked, 'What would you like?' She suggested a hot squab pie, which she took out of a huge kitchen range well loaded with burning turf, the odour of which increased our appetite considerably. We polished off the pie and pocketed the crust to eat on the moors when homeward bound."

The Jamaica Inn is in the midst of the Bodmin Moors. In the time of the mail-coaches from London by Exeter to Falmouth it was a house of great repute. But when the trains ran, and coaches were given up, it fell from its high estate, was converted into a temperance house, was far from clean, harboured innumerable fleas, and did little business. Of late it has entirely recovered its credit. It stands nine hundred feet above the sea. There are now there at Bolventor a church and a school. A bleak, wind-swept moor all about it. Dozmare Pool, haunted by Tregeagle, is near by – and in June the meadows around are a sheet of gold from the buttercups. But to return to John Burton's reminiscences.

"When the landlady came in and saw that we had finished the pie, she looked with amazement towards us.

"'Why, drat you boys, whativer have 'ee done with the pie?'

"'Why, ate'n, missus. Do'y think us called the horse in to help us, or what?'

"'No,' she smartly replied, 'I should 'a thawt you had the Bodmunt Murlicha (Militia) here to help 'ee out. I never seed such gluttons in my life.'

"When we asked what we had got to pay, she said, 'Sixpunce for the crist, threepunce for the suitt, ninepunce for the gibblets, and eightpunce for apples, onions, spice, currants and sugar, and fourpunce for baking 'un; two dishes of tay, tuppunce; that'll be two and eightpunce altogether, boys.'

"'All right, missus, here's the posh.'

"She asked us out of bravado if we could eat any more. We said, 'Yes, we could do with some Christmas cake.'

"She politely told us that she shouldn't cut the Christmas cake until the next day. 'But you can have some zeedy biscays, if you like.'

"'All right.' And in she brought them, which we also polished off. Afterwards she demanded fourpence for them.

"'All right, missus, the fourpunce charged for baking the pie will pay for the biscuits, so us'll cry quits,' which joke the old woman swallowed with a good laugh."

John Burton proceeds to describe the Christmas merry-making at the inn that night. Jamaica Inn had not then become a temperance hotel. The moormen and farmers came in, the great fire glowed like a furnace. The wind sobbed without, and piped in at the casement – "the souls on the wind," as it was said, the spirits of unbaptized babes wailing at the windowpane, seeing the fire within, and condemned to wander on the cold blast without.

To the red fire, and to the plentiful libations, songs were sung, among others that very favourite ballad of the "Highwayman" —

I went to London both blythe and gay,My time I squandered in dice and play,Until my funds they fell full low,And on the highway I was forced to go.

Then after an account of how he robbed Lord Mansfield and Lady Golding, of Portman Square —

I shut the door, bade all good night,And rambled to my heart's delight.

After a career of riot and robbery, the Highwayman at length falls into the toils of Sir John Fielding, who was the first magistrate to take sharp and decisive measures against these pests of society. Then the ballad ends: —

When I am dead, borne to my grave,A gallant funeral may I have;Six highwaymen to carry me,With good broadswords and sweet liberty.Six blooming maidens to bear my pall;Give them white gloves and pink ribbons all;And when I'm dead they'll say the truth,I was a wild and a wicked youth.

One of the local characters who was present on that Christmas Eve was Billy Peppermint. As he was overcome with drink, the young Burtons conveyed him from the Jamaica Inn about ten miles, and then turned him out of their conveyance, and propped him up against the railings of a house in Bodmin, as he was quite unable to sustain himself.

That night the carol singers were making their round, and as they came near they piped forth: "When shepherds watched their flocks by night, all seated on the ground, an angel of the Lord appeared, and – "

Whereon Billy roared forth —

When I am dead they'll say the truth,I was a wild and a wicked youth,

and rolled over and fell prostrate on the ground.

In 1857 an event occurred which altered the direction of John Burton's activities.

He had been sent along with one of his father's hawkers named Paul Mewton with a crate of china on his head to S. Columb. On their way they called at Porth, and there Paul complained that he was not well, whereupon a Mr. Stephens, with whom they were doing business, produced a case of spirits and gave first Paul and then John Burton each a glass of very strong grog. Paul could stand it, but not so John, and as he was carrying his basket of "cloam" over a stile he lost his balance, and away went the crate and all its contents, which were shivered to atoms.

This was too much for Mr. Joseph Burton, a rigid teetotaler, and he had words with his son on the immorality of touching fermented liquor, and above all on the consequences of a loss of many shillings' worth of china.

The stile is still to be seen. On one side is inscribed, "Burton's Stile, 1857"; on the other is a carving of a gin-bottle, a water-jug, and a glass, with the legend beneath, "The Fall of Man."

This was the beginning of a series of altercations between John and his father, which led at last to John abandoning his parent, and in 1862 he set up in Falmouth on his own account with thirty shillings in his pocket. As Burton was wont to say of the world into which he had entered on his own account —

'Tis a very good world for to live in,To lend, or to spend, or to give in;But to beg or to borrow, or get a man's own,'Tis the very worst world that ever was known.

For some time he earned a living by hawking crockery about in Falmouth. Then, some sailors coming into the harbour brought with them some alligators. Burton spent his money on buying them, and then started out in quest of various herbalists, and disposed of the reptiles to them. A stuffed alligator hanging up in a shop was an object imposing on the imagination of patients.

In 1865 a number of Roman coins were found at Pennance Farm, in S. Budock, and Burton bought these, and then became an antiquary. At this time numerous vessels put in at Falmouth, and the sailors had brought with them parrots, apes, and all sorts of curiosities from foreign parts, and were prepared to sell them for very small sums. Burton bought as far as his profits would allow, and thus he became a curiosity dealer. He secured business premises in Market Street, and began to store them with odds and ends of every description. He rambled about in Cornwall, and his keen eye detected at once a bit of old china, a scrap of carved oak, an odd signboard, a piece of Chippendale furniture, a framed sampler, and he bought everywhere, and stocked his premises. As his business grew he advertised extensively, and gradually but surely built up an extensive business. In curiosities he became a very Whiteley. Any one who desired anything peculiar could apply to John Burton, and John Burton would supply it, if not a genuine antique, yet "made to order," and indistinguishable from an antique. When there began to be a run on Bristol lustre ware, he was ready with a stock, which went off rapidly. He bought old muskets by the thousand, and sent them abroad to arm savage nations in Africa and Asia.

One day a Scotchman entered his shop and said to Burton, "I am looking out for a man who can sell me three sixpences for a shilling."

"Then I am the man for you," said Burton, and produced three defective sixpences.

"I'll have another shilling's worth," said the Scotchman.

"Ah! then I cannot accommodate you; but I can do better – give you a bad shilling for a good one."

On one occasion the curator of the Edinburgh Museum wrote down to him for the eleventh vertebra of the skeleton of a whale that he had, but which was wanting. By return of post Burton sent him up what he needed.

He had a marvellous memory – remembering all the multifarious items in his shop, though they were continually changing.

When the new Eddystone Lighthouse was erected, he wrote to Trinity House and offered £500 for Smeaton's lighthouse that had been taken down. This roused a storm of indignation in Plymouth, and ended in that town securing it for £1600, to be erected on the Hoe.

The town of Penryn possessed its old stocks, bearing date 1673. These he bought for £2, and sold them to a Devizes antiquary for a large sum. Then he purchased a haunted house – Trevethan Hall, in Falmouth – but as the ghost could not be turned into money, he pulled the house down and built on its site Mount Edgcumbe Terrace.