CHANNEL PORTS— AND SOME OTHERS 



where huge squadrons of grim, gray 

 men-of-war gathered silently? 



Penzance — what is Penzance today, 

 the sunny pleasure-loving little sea city, 

 whence came those picturesque stage- 

 pirates that made tuneful our youth ? 

 The coast is no more beautiful here on 

 Mounts Bay than elsewhere to east or 

 west ; not so rugged or so wild as on 

 Cornwall's northern shore, but the curve 

 of green cliff is very smooth and lovely , 

 the sun shines warmly ; the roses bloom ; 

 every baby ripple murmurs a sea story; 

 every tiny breeze brings a legend. It is 

 a fascinating place not only for what it 

 is, but what it suggests. 



Cornwall is Celtic, and to be Celtic is 

 not only to believe in fairies, but to see 

 them, and mermaids and pixies and many 

 other fascinating things concealed from 

 Anglo-Saxon eyes ; so that a dull-witted 

 tourist, unless he has been lucky enough 

 to have had a Celtic great-grandparent — 

 when, of course, he has "the sight" — 

 may find some things rather incompre- 

 hensible. As to the pirates, let me tell 

 two stories — one for those who under- 

 stand, one for those who do not. 



GETTING A FAIR START ! 



At Breage they tell a story of Germoe ; 

 at Germoe it is told of Breage ; but there 

 was likely little to choose between them ; 

 they are neighbors on this rocky coast. 

 In one parish church, then, or the other, 

 in the midst of Sabbath service, a head 

 was thrust in at the door and a hoarse 

 voice croaked : "A wreck ! A wreck !" 

 The congregation stirred uneasily ; a man 

 half rose, then another ; in a moment 

 there was a stampede for the door. 

 "Halt!" rang out a stentorious voice 

 from the pulpit ; then, to the clerk, "An- 

 thony, shut that door !" 



The congregation was well trained ; it 

 knew its vicar. Man, woman, and child, 

 for children took no small part in the 

 business of wrecking, stopped in their 

 tracks ; the door clanged shut Blandly 

 the parson elbowed his way between 

 business of wrecking, stopped in their 

 pulpit ; his coat as well. At the door he 

 turned his hand on the latch : "Now, my 

 dear brethren, now we shall all start 

 fair." 



The other story concerns the first 

 steamer which passed out of the channel. 

 All the Cornish boats followed it for 

 miles, quite sure it was on fire and that 

 there would soon be "fair pickings." 



HOUSEHOLD AND NEWLA'N 



Penzance, in spite of her superstitions 

 and her saints, cannot ''hold a candle" to 

 her neighbors in antiquity or legends. 



Little Mousehole, on her right, beyond 

 Newlyn — lovely Newlyn, beloved of fish- 

 ermen and artists, which last we saw in 

 the long light of a summer sunset, her 

 myriad of fishing-boats putting out in a 

 path of gold over a silver sea, like huge 

 brown butterflies fluttering over the edge 

 of the world, while wives and sweethearts 

 waved a last farewell from the quays, 

 and on the cliff a handful of old men 

 critically watched the fleet go out, the 

 fleet that they should sail with no more — 

 little Mousehole ("Mousel," in local 

 speech) was an important port before 

 London was a town (see page 4). 



As for Marazion, to her left, who shall 

 measure her years ? According to Cor- 

 nish history, "in the days of Ezekiel the 

 prophet" it was already an important city, 

 to which Phoenician merchants came for 

 tin. Eor a town which has entertained 

 Phoenicians and giants and has looked for 

 centuries at a castled island floating in a 

 marvelous sea, Marazion is remarkably 

 dull Xo one goes there except to visit 

 the island which gives the bay its name. 



St. Michaels Mount, little brother to 

 Mont St. Michel, off the Breton coast, is 

 a rocky islet 230 feet high and a half mile 

 from shore, with which it is connected by 

 a natural causeway uncovered for about 

 three hours at ordinary low tides (see 

 picture, page 9). With southwest gales 

 the island may remain an island for 

 weeks, and with high seas be inaccessible 

 even to boats. It is a most picturesque 

 pile ; its steep grassy slopes, in springtime 

 yellow with a million daffodils, crowned 

 with the irregular jumble of chapel and 

 castle and ringed by a gleaming sea. 



CORMORAN AND ST. KEONE 



It has much history. Like the other 

 St. Michael, it stood once in a forest and 

 was pagan, Christian, druidical; it has 



