ROMANCES OF THE MINERS.

TRADITIONS OF TINNERS.

There is scarcely a spot in Cornwall where tin is at present found, that has not been worked over by the “old men,” as the ancient miners are always called.

Every valley has been “streamed”—that is, the deposits have been washed for tin; over every hill where now a tin mine appears, there are evidences, many of them most extensive, of actual mining operations having been carried on to as great a depth as was possible in the days when the appliances of science were unknown.

Wherever the “streamer” has been, upon whatever spot the old miner has worked, there we are told the “Finician” (Phœnician) has been, or the Jew has mined.[45]

There is much confusion in these traditions. The Jew, and the Saracen, and the Phœnician are regarded as terms applied to the same people. Whereas the Phœnicians, who are recorded to have traded with the Cornish Britons for tin, and the Jews, who were the great tin miners and merchants in the days of King John, are separated by wide periods of time; and the “Saracens,” who some suppose to have been miners who came from Spain when that country was under the dominion of the Moors, occupy a very undefined position. Tradition, however, tells us that the old Cornish miners shipped their tin at several remarkable islands round the coast. St Michael’s Mount has been especially noticed, but this arises from the circumstance that it still retains the peculiar character which it appears to have possessed when Diodorus wrote. But Looe Island, St Nicholas’s Island in Plymouth Sound, the island at St Ives, the Chapel Rock at Perran, and many other insular masses of rock, which are at but a short distance from the coast, are said to have been shipping-places.

Tradition informs us that the Christian churches upon Dartmoor, which are said to have been built about the reign of John, were reared by the Jews. Once, and once only, I heard the story told in more detail. They, the Jews, did not actually work in the tin streams and mines of the Moor, but they employed tinners, who were Christians; and the king imposed on the Jew merchants the condition that they should build churches for their miners.

That the Phœnicians came to Cornwall to buy tin has been so often told, that there is little to be added to the story. It was certainly new, however, to be informed by the miners in Gwennap—that there could be no shade of doubt but that St Paul himself came to Cornwall to buy tin, and that Creegbraws—a mine still in existence—supplied the saint largely with that valuable mineral. Gwennap is regarded by Gwennap men as the centre of Christianity. This feeling has been kept alive by the annual meeting of the Wesleyan body in Gwennap Pit—an old mine-working—on Whit-monday. This high estate and privilege is due, says tradition, to the fact that St Paul himself preached in the parish.[46]

I have also been told that St Paul preached to the tinners on Dartmoor, and a certain cross on the road from Plympton to Princes-Town has been indicated as the spot upon which the saint stood to enlighten the benighted miners of this wild region. Of St Piran or Perran we have already spoken as the patron saint of the tinners, and of the discovery of tin a story has been told, (p. 21;) and we have already intimated that another saint, whose name alone is preserved, St Picrous, has his feast-day amongst the tinners of eastern Cornwall, on the second Thursday before Christmas.

Amidst the giant stories we have the very remarkable Jack the Tinker, who is clearly indicated as introducing the knowledge of tin, or of the dressing of tin, to the Cornish. This is another version of Wayland Smith, the blacksmith of Berkshire. The blacksmith of the Berkshire legend reappears in a slightly altered character in Jack the Tinker. In Camden’s “Britannia” we read, relative to Ashdown, in Berkshire:—

“The burial-place of Baereg, the Danish chief, who was slain in this fight, (the fight between Alfred and the Danes,) is distinguished by a parcel of stones, less than a mile from the hill, set on edge, enclosing a piece of ground somewhat raised. On the east side of the southern extremity stand three squarish flat stones, of about four or five feet over either way, supporting a fourth, and now called by the vulgar, Wayland Smith, from an idle tradition about an invisible smith replacing lost horseshoes there.”—Gough’s Camden.

See “Kenilworth,” by Sir Walter Scott, who has appropriated Wayland Smith with excellent effect.

“The Berkshire legend of Wayland Smith (‘Wayland Smith,’ by W. S. Singer) is probably but a prototype of Dædalus, Tubal Cain, &c.”—Wilson’s Prehistoric Annals of Scotland.

See also Mr Thomas Wright’s Essay on Wayland Smith.

The existence of the terms “Jews’ houses,” “Jews’ tin,” “Jews’ leavings,” or “atall,” and “atall Saracen,” prove the connexion of strangers with the Cornish tin mines. The inquiry is too large to be entered on here. I reserve it for another and more fitting place. I may, however, remark in passing, that I have no doubt the Romans were active miners during the period of their possession; and many relics which have been found and ascribed to the Britons are undoubtedly Roman. See further remarks on p. 118, “Who are the Knockers?”

Mr Edmonds supposes that he found in a bronze vessel discovered near Marazion a caldron in which tin was refined. In the first place, a bronze vessel would never have been used for that purpose—chemical laws are against it; and in the second place, it is more than doubtful if ever the “Jews’ tin” was subjected to this process. In all probability, the bronze vessel discovered was a “Roman camp-kettle.” A very full description of bronze caldrons of this description will be found in “The Archæology and Prehistoric Annals of Scotland,” by Daniel Wilson, p. 274.

It may not be out of place to insert here the tradition of a very important application of this metal.

The use of tin as a mordant, for which very large quantities are now used, is said to have been thus discovered:—

Mr Crutchy, Bankside, married a Scotchwoman. This lady often told her husband that his scarlet was not equal to one she could dye. He set her to work. She dyed a skein of worsted in a saucepan, using the same material as her husband, but produced a better colour. She did not know this was owing to the saucepan’s being tinned, but he detected the fact, and made his fortune as a dyer of scarlet and Turkey-red. The most important Turkey-red dye-works are even now in the neighbourhood of Lochlomond; therefore, this Scotchwoman may have been better acquainted with the process than the story tells.

THE TINNER OF CHYANNOR.

The village of Trereen, near the Logan Stone, was at one time an important market-town. Here came all the tin-streamers who worked from Penberth to the hills, and to protect the place and the valuable property which was accumulated here, Castle Trereen was built. Here came—or rather into the cove near it came—the Tyrian merchants. They were not allowed to advance beyond the shores, lest they should discover the country from which the tin was brought. But it is not of them that we have now to tell, but of a knot of tinners who came from the low country between Chyannor and Trengothal. These were assembled round the Garrack Zans, which then stood in the centre of the market-place of Trereen. Times had been bad, and they were consulting together what they had better do. The “streams” had failed them, and they believed all the tin was worked out. Some of them had heard that there was tin in “the country a long way off,” some miles beyond Market-Jew; but they had but a very dim idea of the place or of the people. One of them, who, though an old man, was more adventurous than any of his comrades, said he would travel there and see what could be done. It was then determined that Tom Trezidder should try his fortune, and the others would wait until he came home again, or sent for them to come to him. This was soon noised about, and all the women, old and young, came to say “Good-bye” to Tom. His parting with his wife was brief but bitter. He bore up well, and with a stout heart started on his adventure. Tom Trezidder arrived at length at a place not far from Goldsythney, and here he found one of the Jew merchants, who farmed the tin ground, and sold the tin at St Michael’s Mount; and the Jew was very anxious to engage so experienced a “streamer” as Tom was. Tom, nothing loath, took service for a year. He was to have just enough to live on, and a share of profits at the year’s end. Tom worked diligently, and plenty of tin was the result of his experienced labour. The year expired, and Tom looked for his share of the profits. The Jew contrived to put Tom off, and promised Tom great things if he would stop for another year, and persuaded him to send for some of his old comrades, clenching every argument which he employed with a small piece of advice, “Never leave an old road for a new one.”

The other tinners were shy of venturing so far, so that two or three only could be persuaded to leave the West Country. With Tom and with his brethren the year passed by, and at the end he got no money, but only the same piece of advice, “Never leave an old road for a new one.” This went on for a third year, when all of them, being naturally tired of this sort of thing, resolved to go home again.

Tom Trezidder was a favourite with his master, and was greatly esteemed for his honesty and industry by his mistress.

When they left she gave Tom a good currant cake to take home to his old woman, and told him to remember the advice, “Never leave an old road for a new one.”

The tinners trudged on together until they were on the western side of Penzance. They were weary, and they found that since they had left home a new road had been made over the hills, which saved them a considerable distance—in fact it was a “short cut.” On they went. “No,” says Tom; “never leave an old road for a new one.” They all laughed at him, and trudged on. But Tom kept in the old road along the valley round the hill. When Tom reached the other end of the “short cut” he thought he would rest a bit, and he sat down by the roadside and ate his fuggan. This his mistress had given him, that he might not break his cake until he got home.

He had not sat long when he heard a noise, and, looking up the hill, he saw his comrades, whom he thought were miles in advance of him, slowly and sorrowfully descending it. They came at last to where Tom was seated, and a sad tale had they to tell. They had scarcely got into the new road when they were set upon by robbers, who took from them “all their little bit of money,” and then beat them because they had no more.

Tom, you may be sure, thought the piece of advice worth something now, as it had saved his bacon.

Tom arrived home at last, and glad was the old woman to see her old man once again; so she made him some “herby tea” at once. He shewed his wife the cake, and told her that all he had received for his share of profits was the piece of advice already given.

The ladies who read this story will understand how vexed was Tom’s wife,—there are but few of them who would not have done as she did, that was to seize the cake from the table and fling it at her husband’s head, calling him an old fool. Tom Trezidder stooped to avoid the blow. Slap against the corner of the dresser went the cake, breaking in pieces with the blow, and out on the lime-ash floor rolled a lot of gold coins.

This soon changed the aspect of things; the storm rolled back, and sunshine was once more in the cottage. The coins were all gathered up, and they found a scrap of paper, on which, when they got the priest to read it, they discovered was written an exact account of each year’s profits, and Tom’s share. The three years’ shares had been duly hoarded for him by his master and mistress; and now this old couple found they had enough to make them comfortable for the rest of their days. Many were the prayers said by Tom and his wife for the happiness and health of the honest Jew tin merchant and his wife.

“WHO ARE THE KNOCKERS?”

Charles Kingsley in his “Yeast: a Problem,” asks this question—Tregarra answers,—

“They are the ghosts, the miners hold, of the old Jews that crucified our Lord, and were sent for slaves by the Roman emperors to work the mines: and we find their old smelting-houses, which we call Jews’ houses, and their blocks at the bottom of the great bogs, which we call Jews’ tin: and then a town among us too, which we call Market-Jew, but the old name was Marazion, that means the bitterness of Zion, they tell me; and bitter work it was for them, no doubt, poor souls! We used to break into old shafts and adits which they had made, and find fine old stag’s-horn pickaxes, that crumbled to pieces when we brought them to grass. And they say that if a man will listen of a still night about these shafts, he may hear the ghosts of them at work, knocking and picking, as clear as if there was a man at work in the next level.”

In Notes and Queries will be found some learned discussions on the question of the Jews working the Cornish tin mines, as though it were merely one of tradition. That the Jews farmed the tin mines of Cornwall and Devonshire is an historical fact, of which we have evidence in charters granted by several of our kings, especially by King John. Carew in his “Survey of Cornwall” gives some account of their mode of dealing with the tinners. Hence the terms “Jews’ houses,” given to old and rude smelting-works,—many of which I have seen,—and hence the name of “Jews’ tin,” given to the old blocks of tin, specimens of which may be seen in the Museum of Practical Geology, and in the museum of the Royal Institution of Cornwall, at Truro. “Atall Sarazin” is another term applied to some of the old waste-heaps of the ancient tin mines.

“The Jews,” says Whitaker, (“Origin of Arianism,” p. 334,) “denominated themselves, and were denominated by the Britons of Cornwall, Saracens, as the genuine progeny of Sarah.” Be this as it may, I have often heard in the mining villages—from twenty to thirty years since—a man coming from a distant parish, called “a foreigner;” a man from a distant country, termed “an outlandish man;” and any one not British born, designated as “a Saracen.”

But this has led me away from the knockers, who are in some districts called also “the buccas.” Many a time have I been seriously informed by the miners themselves that these sprites have been heard working away in the remote parts of a lode, repeating the blows of the miner’s pick or sledge with great precision. Generally speaking, the knockers work upon productive lodes only; and they have often kindly indicated to the trusting miner, where they might take good tribute pitches.

To Wesley, Cornwall owes a deep debt. He found the country steeped in the darkness of superstitious ignorance, and he opened a new light upon it. Associated with the spread of Wesleyan Methodism, has been the establishment of schools; and under the influence of religion and education, many of the superstitions have faded away. We rarely hear of the knockers now; but the following occurrence will shew that the knockers have not entirely left the land:—

One Saturday night I had retired to rest, having first seen that all the members of the household had gone to their bedrooms. These were my daughters, two female servants, and an old woman, named Mary, who was left, by the proprietor, in charge of the house which I occupied.

I had been some time in bed, when I distinctly heard a bedroom door open, and footsteps which, after moving about for some time in the passage or landing, from which the bedrooms opened, slowly and carefully descended the stairs. I heard a movement in the kitchen below, and the footsteps again ascended the stairs, and went into one of the bedrooms. This noise continued so long, and was so regularly repeated, that I began to fear lest one of the children were taken suddenly ill. Yet I felt assured, if it was so, one of the servants would call me. Therefore I lay still and listened until I fell asleep.

On the Sunday morning, when I descended to the breakfast-room, I asked the eldest of the two servants what had occasioned so much going up and down stairs in the night. She declared that no one had left their bedrooms after they had retired to them. I then inquired of the younger girl, and of each of my daughters as they made their appearance. No one had left their rooms—they had not heard any noises. My youngest daughter, who had been, after this inquiry of mine, for some minutes alone with the youngest servant, came laughing to me,—

“Papa, Nanny says the house is haunted, and that they have often heard strange noises in it.”

So I called Nancy; but all I could learn from her was that noises, like that of men going up and down stairs,—of threshing corn, and of “beating the borer,” (a mining operation,) were not uncommon.

We all laughed over papa’s ghost during the breakfast, and by and by old Mary made her appearance.

“Yes,” she said, “it is quite true, as Nanny as a told you. I have often heard all sorts of strange noises; but I b’lieve they all come from the lode of tin which runs under the house. Wherever there is a lode of tin, you are sure to hear strange noises.”

“What, Mary! was it the knockers I heard last night?”

“Yes; ’twas the knackers, down working upon the tin—no doubt of it.”

This was followed by a long explanation, and numerous stories of mines in the Lelant and St Ives district, in which the knockers had been often heard.

After a little time, Mary, imagining, I suppose, that the young ladies might not like to sleep in a house beneath which the knockers were at work; again came with her usual low courtesy into the parlour.

“Beg pardon, sir,” says she; “but none of the young ladies need be afraid. There are no spirits in the house; it is very nearly a new one, and no one has ever died in the house.”

This makes a distinct difference between the ghost of the departed and those gnomes who are doomed to toil in the earth’s dark recesses.[47] The Cornish knocker does not appear to be the “cobal” of German miners. The former are generally kindly, and often serve the industrious miner; the latter class are always malicious, and, I believe, are never heard but when mischief is near.

MINERS’ SUPERSTITIONS.

Miners say they often see little imps or demons underground. Their presence is considered favourable; they indicate the presence of lodes, about which they work during the absence of the miners. A miner told my informant that he had often seen them, sitting on pieces of timber, or tumbling about in curious attitudes, when he came to work.

Miners do not like the form of the cross being made underground. A friend of my informant, going through some “levels” or “adits,” made a + by the side of one, to know his way back, as he would have to return by himself. He was compelled to alter it into another form.

If miners see a snail when going to “bal” in the morning, they always drop a piece of tallow from their candles by its side.

CHRISTMAS-EVE IN THE MINES.

On Christmas-eve, in former days, the small people, or the spriggans, would meet at the bottom of the deepest mines, and have a midnight mass. Then those who were in the mine would hear voices melodious beyond all earthly voices, singing, “Now well! now well;”[48] and the strains of some deep-toned organ would shake the rocks. Of the grandeur of those meetings, old stories could not find words sufficiently sonorous to speak; it was therefore left to the imagination. But this was certain, the temple formed by the fairy bands in which to celebrate the eve of the birth of a Saviour, in whose mercy they all had hope, was of the most magnificent description.

Midsummer-eve and new-year’s day and eve are holidays with the miners. It has been said they refuse to work on those days from superstitious reasons. I never heard of any.

WARNINGS AND “TOKENS.”

Amongst the mining population there is a deeply-rooted belief in warnings. The following, related by a very respectable man, formerly a miner, well illustrates this:—

“My father, when a lad, worked with a companion (James or ‘Jim,’ as he was called) in Germo. They lived close by Old Wheal Grey in Breage. One evening, the daughter of the person with whom they lodged came in to her mother, crying, ‘Billy and Jim ben out theer for more than a hour, and I ben chasin them among the Kilyur banks, and they waan’t ler me catch them. As fast as I do go to one, they do go to another.’ ‘Hould your tongue, child,’ said the mother; ‘’twas their forenoon core, and they both ben up in bed this hours.’ ‘I’m sure I ben chasin them,’ said the girl. The mother then went up-stairs and awoke the lads, telling them the story. One of them said, ‘’Tis a warning; somethin will happen in un old end, and I shan’t go to mine this core.’ ‘Nonsense,’ said the other; ‘don’t let us be so foolish; the child has been playing with some strangers, and it isn’t worth while to be spaled for any such foolishness.’ ‘I tell you,’ replied the other, ‘I won’t go.’ As it was useless for one man to go alone, both remained away. In the course of the night, however, a run took place in the end they were working in, and tens of thousands of kibblefuls came away. Had they been at work, it was scarcely possible for them to have escaped.”

At Wheal Vor it has always been and is now believed that a fatal accident in the mine is presaged by the appearance of a hare or white rabbit in one of the engine-houses. The men solemnly declare that they have chased these appearances till they were hemmed in apparently, without being able to catch them. The white rabbit on one occasion being run into a “windbore” lying on the ground, and, though stopped in, escaped.

In this mine there appears to be a general belief among the men in “tokens” and supernatural appearances. A few months since, a fine old man reported, on being relieved from his turn as watcher, that during the night he heard a loud sound like the emptying of a cartload of rubbish in front of the account-house, where he was staying. On going out, nothing was to be seen. The poor fellow, considering the strange sound as a “warning,” pined away and died within a few weeks.

THE GHOST ON HORSEBACK.

Billy —— and John ——, working at Wheal Vor, were in the habit, early in the morning, of calling out a dog or two, kept by the occupier of an adjoining farm, and with them hunt over the Godolphin warren adjoining. One morning, while thus engaged, one of them gave the alarm that a man on horseback was coming down the road. “’Tisn’t possible,” said the other; “no horse can ever come over that road.” “There is a horse, and old Cap’n T. is upon it,” replied the first. “Hold thy tongue,” rejoined his comrade; “he’s dead months ago.” “I know that; but ’tis he, sure enough.” Both crouched down behind a bush; and my informant, whose father was one of the parties, declared that the appearance of Capt. T., on a black horse, passed noiselessly down the road immediately before them, but without noticing their presence.

THE BLACK DOGS.

About thirty years since, a man and a lad were engaged in sinking a shaft at Wheal Vor Mine, when the lad, through carelessness or accident, missed in charging a hole, so that a necessity arose for the dangerous operation of picking out the charge. This they proceeded to do, the man severely reprimanding the carelessness of his assistant. Several other miners at the time being about to change their core, were on the plat above, calling down and conversing occasionally with man and boy. Suddenly the charge exploded, and the latter were seen to be thrown up in the midst of a volume of flame. As soon as help could be procured, a party descended, when the remains of the poor fellows were found to be shattered and scorched beyond recognition. When these were brought to the surface, the clothes and a mass of mangled flesh dropped from the bodies. A bystander, to spare the feelings of the relatives, hastily caught up the revolting mass in a shovel, and threw the whole into the blazing furnace of Woolf’s engine, close at hand. From that time the enginemen declared that troops of little black dogs continually haunted the place, even when the doors were shut. Few of them liked to talk about it; but it was difficult to obtain the necessary attendance to work the machine.

PITMEN’S OMENS AND GOBLINS.

It is curious to notice the correspondence between the superstitions of the coal-miner and those employed in the metalliferous mines. The following comes very opportunely to our hand:—

The superstitions of pitmen were once many and terrible; but so far from existing now-a-days, they are only matters of tradition among the old men. One class only of superstitions does exist among a few of the older and less-educated pitmen—namely, the class of omens, warnings, and signs. If one of these pitmen meet or see a woman, if he catch but a glimpse of her draperies, on his way, in the middle of the night to the pit, the probability is that he returns home and goes to bed again. The appearance of woman at this untimely hour has often materially impeded the day’s winning, for the omen is held not to be personal to the individual perceiving it, but to bode general ill luck to all. The walk from home to pit mouth, always performed at dead of the night, was the period when omens were mostly to be looked for. The supernatural appearance of a little white animal like a rabbit, which was said to cross the miner’s path, was another warning not to descend. Sometimes the omens were rather mental than visual. The pitmen in the midland counties have, or had, a belief, unknown in the north, in aerial whistlings, warning them against the pit. Who, or what the invisible musicians were, nobody pretended to know; but for all that, they must have been counted and found to consist of seven, as “The Seven Whistlers” is the name they bear to this day. Two goblins were believed to haunt the northern mines. One was a spiteful elf, who indicated his presence only by the mischief he perpetrated. He rejoiced in the name of “Cutty Soams,” and appears to have employed himself only in the stupid device of severing the rope-traces or soams, by which an assistant-putter—honoured by the title of “the fool”—is yoked to the tub. The strands of hemp which were left all sound in the board at “kenner-time,” were found next morning severed in twain. “Cutty Soams” has been at work, would the fool and his driver say, dolefully knotting the cord. The other goblin was altogether a more sensible, and, indeed, an honest and hard-working bogie, much akin to the Scotch brownie, or the hairy fiend, whom Milton rather scurvily apostrophises as a lubber. The supernatural personage in question was no other than a ghostly putter, and his name was “Bluecap.” Sometimes the miners would perceive a light blue flame flicker through the air, and settle on a full coal-tub, which immediately moved towards the rolley-way, as though impelled by the sturdiest sinews in the working. Industrious Bluecap was at his vocation; but he required, and rightly, to be paid for his services, which he modestly rated as those of an ordinary average putter; therefore once a fortnight Bluecap’s wages were left for him in a solitary corner of the mine. If they were a farthing below his due, the indignant Bluecap would not pocket a stiver; if they were a farthing above his due, indignant Bluecap left the surplus revenue where he found it. The writer asked his informant, a hewer, whether, if Bluecap’s wages were now-a-days to be left for him, he thought they would be appropriated; the man shrewdly answered, he thought they would be taken by Bluecap, or by somebody else. Of the above notions it must be understood that the idea of omens is the only one still seriously entertained, and even its hold upon the popular mind, as has been before stated, is becoming weaker and weaker.—Colliery Guardian, May 23, 1863.

THE DEAD HAND.

“I’ve seen it—I’ve seen it!” exclaimed a young woman, pale with terror, approaching with much haste the door of a cottage, around which were gathered several of the miners’ wives inhabiting the adjoining dwellings.

“God’s mercy be with the chield!” replied the oldest woman of the group, with very great seriousness.

“Aunt Alice,” asked one of the youngest women, “and do ’e b’lieve any harm will come o’ seeing it?”

“Mary Doble saw it and pined; Jinny Trestrail was never the same woman after she seed the hand in Wheal Jewel; and I knows ever so many more; but let us hope, by the blessing o’ the Lord, no evil will come on Mary.”

Mary was evidently impressed with a sense of some heavy trouble. She sighed deeply, and pressed her hand to her side, as if to still the beating of her heart. The thoughtless faith of the old woman promised to work out a fulfilment of her fears in producing mental distress and corporeal suffering in the younger one.

While this was passing in the little village, a group of men were gathered around a deserted shaft, which existed in too dangerous proximity with the abodes of the miners. They were earnestly discussing the question of the reality of the appearance of the dead hand—those who had not seen it expressing a doubt of its reality, while others declared most emphatically, “that in that very shaft they had seed un with a lighted candle in his hand, moving up and down upon the ladders, as though he was carried by a living man.”

It appears that some time previously to the abandonment of the mine, an unfortunate miner was ascending from his subterranean labours, carrying his candle in his hand. He was probably seized with giddiness, but from that or some other cause, he fell away from the ladders, and was found by his comrades a bleeding corpse at the bottom. The character of this man was not of the best; and after his burial, it was stated by the people that he had been seen. From a vague rumour of his spectral appearance on the surface, the tale eventually settled itself into that of the dead hand moving up and down in the shaft.

By the spectral light of the candle, the hand had been distinctly visible to many, and the irregular motion of the light proved that the candle was held in the usual manner between the thumb and finger in its ball of clay, while the fingers were employed in grasping stave after stave of the ladder. The belief in the evil attendant on being unfortunate enough to see this spectral hand, prevailed very generally amongst the mining population about twenty years since. The dead hand was not, however, confined to one shaft or mine. Similar narrations have been met with in several districts.

DORCAS, THE SPIRIT OF POLBREEN MINE.

Polbreen Mine is situated at the foot of the hill known as St Agnes Becon. In one of the small cottages which immediately adjoins the mine once lived a woman called Dorcas.

Beyond this we know little of her life; but we are concerned chiefly with her death, which we are told was suicidal.

From some cause, which is not related, Dorcas grew weary of life, and one unholy night she left her house and flung herself into one of the deep shafts of Polbreen Mine, at the bottom of which her dead and broken body was discovered. The remnant of humanity was brought to the surface; and after the laws of the time with regard to suicides had been fulfilled, the body of Dorcas was buried.

Her presence, however, still remained in the mine. She appears ordinarily to take a malicious delight in tormenting the industrious miner, calling him by name, and alluring him from his tasks. This was carried on by her to such an extent, that when a “tributer” had made a poor month, he was asked if he had “been chasing Dorcas.”[49]

Dorcas was usually only a voice. It has been said by some that they have seen her in the mine, but this is doubted by the miners generally, who refer the spectral appearance to the fears of their “comrade.”

But it is stated as an incontrovertible fact, that more than one man who has met the spirit in the levels of the mine has had his clothes torn off his back; whether in anger or in sport, is not clearly made out. On one occasion, and on one occasion only, Dorcas appears to have acted kindly. Two miners, who for distinction’s sake we will call Martin and Jacky, were at work in their end, and at the time busily at work “beating the borer.”

The name of Jacky was distinctly uttered between the blows. He stopped and listened—all was still. They proceed with their task: a blow on the iron rod.—“Jacky.” Another blow.—“Jacky.” They pause—all is silent. “Well, thee wert called, Jacky,” said Martin, “go and see.”

Jacky was, however, either afraid, or he thought himself the fool of his senses.

Work was resumed, and “Jacky! Jacky! Jacky!” was called more vehemently and distinctly than before.

Jacky threw down his heavy hammer, and went from his companion, resolved to satisfy himself as to the caller.

He had not proceeded many yards from the spot on which he had been standing at work, when a mass of rock fell from the roof of the level, weighing many tons, which would have crushed him to death. Martin had been stooping, holding the borer, and a projecting corner of rock just above him turned off the falling mass. He was securely enclosed, and they had to dig him out, but he escaped without injury. Jacky declared to his dying day that he owed his life to Dorcas.

Although Dorcas’s shaft remains a part of Polbreen Mine, I am informed by the present agent that her presence has departed.

HINGSTON DOWNS.

It may be worthy of consideration whether we have not evidence in this distich of the extent to which mining operations were carried on over this moorland and the adjoining country by the ancient Cornish miners.

It is said that this moorland was originally Hengiston; and tradition affirms that the name preserves the memory of a severe contest, when the Welsh joined Egbright, a king of the West Saxons, and defeated the host of Danes, who had come over to “West Wales,” meaning thereby Cornwall. On this waste Hengist had his fenced camp, and here the Cornish and the Welsh attacked and entirely overthrew him. It is evident, if tradition is to be believed, that the struggle was to gain possession of a valuable tin ground.