Of all the wild and magical places in the British Isles, Cornwall is, perhaps, the one which maintains the fey and tangible imprints of the distant past more than any other. Legends of Arthur, giants and fairies are as real today as they ever were.
Cornwall is the peninsula which juts out into the Atlantic Ocean at the far southwestern corner of the kingdom. Terminating at Lands End, beyond which lie the Isles of Scilly, both the north and south borders are coast and the eastern border is, for the most part, formed by the mighty river Tamar.
Much of the interior is wild moorland or wind blasted farmland. Large areas have been mined over the centuries for tin, copper or china clay, and the stark, skeletal, remains of engine houses stand black against the wild sky. It is a hard and unforgiving country sometimes described as 'an indifferent picture in a magnificent frame'. That frame is the majestic and treacherous coastline which has claimed, and continues to claim, ships and lives to this very day.
Cornwall is a duchy, one of few remaining, presided over by the Duke of Cornwall. The Romans barely visited. The Saxons feared to cross the Tamar. The people owe more allegiance to the Bretons, the Irish and the Welsh than to their ruling Anglo Saxon neighbors. It is a fiercely independent Celtic place.
On the north coast of Cornwall, not far from Tintagel where Arthur was born
and Merlin lived, is the village of Boscastle with a tiny harbor. Outside the harbor mouth are great, black, craggy cliffs pounded by huge Atlantic breakers and screaming gales which can blow without warning at any time of the year.
In the Summer the place is a favorite with visitors but, in the winter, it returns to its quiet self and broods on the past.
Just outside the village, perched on the cliff, is a small pub, I forget its name, and from outside you can watch the waves crashing against the cliffs. The noise and stinging spray is indescribable. In the bar it is warm, quiet and safe.
One evening in late October I was in this warm cocoon enjoying the company
of a few local people and escaping the afternoon's foul weather. The storm had increased with the turn of the tide which was now at its height and that made a good excuse to stay put and enjoy another pint or two.
Suddenly the door burst open and a young man almost fell in. He was soaked
and disheveled by the wind. His clothes were mud stained and his ashen face
held a look of terror.
Not even noticing any of us, he ordered a large whisky and downed it in one gulp, immediately asking for another. The floor was soaked with the rain running off his clothes.
"You alright, my 'andsome?" asked Jed, the landlord. In Cornwall 'My handsome' or 'My bird' are common forms of address.
"Better now," the young man mumbled, then asked for another drink.
By now we were all fascinated as to what could have caused the stranger to be
so, visibly upset. Jed, as intrigued as the rest of us, pressed on.
"Did you have an accident?"
"No."
"What then?" Without waiting for an answer Jed continued, "Take off that coat and come over by the fire." Then he called to his wife. "Mary! Bring us a bowl of that soup. We've got us a drowned emmet out here." Emmet is a common term in Cornwall for any non-Cornish visitor. It means ant and refers to the droves of people who visit the duchy in the summer like a plague of ants.
Settled by the driftwood fire with his soup the young man began to recover
and relax.
"Now," Jed pressed on. "What happened?"
"Well I went out along the cliff path to the steps that lead down to the beach. I wanted to see the storm. I went down about half way and settled on a ledge just off the steps. It was getting dark and I had a good view of everything. The waves, the beach, everything." The color was coming back to his cheeks as the soup and spirits warmed him. He paused. "Now you're going to think I'm mad."
"There's not much around here that surprise us," said Jed. "I think you're mad to want to go and sit out there in a storm, but that's your choice. Go on and tell us what happened."
"Well that's it. I'm not sure. I was sitting there when something made me turn 'round and there were two men with lanterns -- old fashioned ones. They went on down the steps, not very far, and then set them in the ground about fifty yards apart. It was then that I noticed a light far out at sea. It was tossing about with the waves. More people started to come down the steps. They had lanterns too and were carrying all manner of ropes and what looked like canvas and boxes. They weren't all men. There were women and some children too. The strangest thing was that they made no noise. All these people made no noise. They were all dressed in old fashioned clothes and their faces -- oh God, their faces ..."
"What about their faces?"
"They were white. So horribly white -- like skulls -- and with ghastly expressions. Cruel, evil, tormented." He shuddered. "I'll never forget those faces."
"The wreckers," murmured Jed. "Go on. What happened then?"
"They went down to where the two lanterns had been set up and some began to wave their lanterns. Almost at once a light answered from the ship and it seemed to alter course and begin to move towards the shore. It came on quickly. I suppose that the tide and on-shore wind drove it. Some of the people moved on down to the beach and I could make out the sails of the ship. It was a really old fashioned one. It must have reached the outer surf before the captain realized what had happened and he tried to turn away from the beach again, but it was too late. The waves took the ship broadside and she rolled wildly."
"Suddenly I could hear. Above the wind and pounding surf came a terrible
crash as she struck a rock. There were screams too. Unearthly screams and the people on the beach were running and capering like demons."
"Through the surf came the people from the ship and the white faced ones set on them and clubbed them down before they could gain a foothold. I couldn't move. They must have struck down twenty or more, women too, and then they began to gather up the things which were being washed up onto the beach and pile them at the foot of the steps. The ship was now high on the beach and they swarmed all over it, hurling things down to their comrades below and lowering heavier things over the side with ropes."
"I could see that they were getting ready to start back up the cliff and I feared that they would find me. All I wanted to do was get away and so I scrambled back up the steps and ran back here along the path..." His voice trailed off and all of us were silent.
Jed spoke quietly and distantly. "Long ago there were wreckers along this
coast. They would know when a ship was due to pass and, if the conditions were right, they would set up lights to look like a harbor entrance and the ship would run aground. Usually they would kill the survivors. Dead men tell no tales, you know. Then loot the ship of all they could. Wagons would haul it all away and by the time the wreck was discovered there would be very little left."
"Even today," he continued, "ships go aground along this coast. I don't say that wreckers drive them ashore, but I do know that there's a lot missing by the time the authorities get there." He paused awhile and walked back to the bar.
"My 'andsome, what you saw was ghosts. None the less real for that. Everything was just right tonight and something that happened hundreds of years ago seemed to happen again. ---------- Ghosts, my bird, that's what you saw. Cornwall's full of them."
