CHAPTER IV.

THE LAND'S END.

THE first part of the road from Newlyn to the Land's End runs through charming scenery. The hedges are rich in ferns, foxglove, and wild flowers, and the trees are well-grown. But as you near the most westerly point of England, the few trees that rise up here and there are stunted and poor, while the hedges disappear and are replaced by fences formed of blocks of granite standing on end.

It took John Trevan two full hours to drive to the cottage where great-uncle Thomas and his wife lived during the spring, summer, and autumn. In winter they were glad to go and stay with their daughter, who resided at Sennen, a little village one mile distant.

The cart was left at the Land's End Inn, and its occupants walked towards the cottage which was a few hundred yards off. It was a simple building, and stood quite alone on a grassy slope facing the sea, no habitation but the small hotel being in sight. A board nailed on the outside wall announced "the first and last refreshment-room in England," kept by Thomas and Molly Nance. The old couple gathered many shillings during the season by providing accommodation for those visitors who preferred bringing their own provisions and being supplied with crockery, or who required boiling water for a tea-drinking. A case of minerals stood outside the door, and the sale of them was another source of income.

They were awaiting the arrival of their relations. Dorothy and Judith bounded on in front for the first kisses: Captain Nance, with his son-in-law and daughter, came more slowly.

Seldom have two finer old men been seen than were William Nance and his brother Thomas. The latter was in his eighty-eighth year.

"Welcome here once more, William," said Thomas Nance. "Thank God for sparing us to meet again."

"Yes, brother, I do thank God with you, for his tender mercies. He's upheld us through the battles and breezes of life for the greater part of a century."

They entered the cottage, which only consisted of two rooms. One of them was usually kept for visitors, but no strangers were to be admitted that day, and it being early in the season, there was little fear of any excursionist wishing to disturb the family gathering.

The morning was exquisitely fine and clear, but the wind was high, and the waves were scattering their white foam over the cliffs.

"Shall we go on to the Land's End at once to sing our hymn?" asked Thomas Nance.

"Yes," replied his brother, "we must keep to the old rule."

[Illustration: THE LAND'S END.]

It is said that when Wesley stood on the Land's End for the first time, he was deeply impressed with the sublimity of the scene, and exclaimed:

"Lo! on a narrow neck of land, 'Twixt two unbounded seas I stand, Secure, insensible: A point of time, a moment's space, Removes me to that heavenly place, Or shuts me up in hell."

It was the hymn which contains these words the brothers sang at their annual meeting.

"Come, children, we will go first," said John Trevan.

They took the narrow path leading over the cliff to the granite rocks that form the Land's End promontory, and rise up out of the sea some sixty feet high; and standing close together on the point known as "Wesley's spot," sang the beautiful hymn which commences thus: "Thou God of glorious majesty."

When the last notes died away, the brothers walked together in silence towards the cottage; Mrs. Trevan followed with Aunt Molly, but John and his children lingered behind to admire and enjoy the magnificent scene. Judith clung close to her father, she was afraid of looking down into the deep sea or scrambling over the rocks without holding him firmly by the hand. Dorothy had no such fear, but watched the dashing waves with delight, and made her way alone through the narrow opening which leads to the extreme point of the Land's End.

They found a seat on a flat stone sheltered from the wind by a high rock; here they sat down and looked out on the broad Atlantic. The line of coast ends with Cape Cornwall, Longship's Lighthouse rises from a cluster of rocks about a mile from the shore, while about eight miles distant a dangerous rock of green-stone, called the Wolf, stands boldly up. A lighthouse has been built upon it within the last few years; but in the days of which we write, it had no such beacon to mark it, yet it was viewed with such alarm by mariners that many contrivances were thought of. One of them was to fix the figure of an enormous wolf on the rock, which was to be hollow inside, ad that the wind would make a loud noise in passing through, and ring the bells that were attached to it; but the tides were so strong, and the waves dashed over the rock with such violence, that this proposal was never carried out.

The rock on which Longship's Lighthouse is built is called Carn-Brâs. Including the rock, it is about one hundred and twenty-seven feet high. The walls are four feet thick at the base, and two feet seven inches at the top. During winter, when the weather is stormy, the tide rushes furiously against the rock, and renders landing so difficult, that the men in charge have to keep a large stock of provisions by them in case of a gale blowing for some days.

"How many people are there at Longship's, father, to take care of it?" asked Dorothy.

"Three, my dear. For a long time there were only two; but once a poor fellow in charge was cleaning some fish and fell over a rock. He was dead before his companion discovered him, probably he was killed on the spot. The living man managed to drag the body within shelter of the lighthouse, and then he showed a signal of distress; but though the people at St. Just saw it, they couldn't send help, for a sudden wind sprang up and a heavy storm raged for several days. Since this terrible event the change has been made."

"How dreadful for the poor man to be shut away from everybody, with only his dead friend near," said Judith, drawing closer to her father. "I hope he loved God, so that he could talk to him. How glad I am you don't take care of a lighthouse! I shouldn't like you to live nearly alone on a rock, and only come home sometimes."

"If we might be with father, I should like it very much," exclaimed Dorothy, "I'm so fond of seeing the waves beat up high; and if we lived at Longship's, Judith, we should see the seals asleep on the rocks."

"Not many of them, my dear," said John Trevan, laughing. "You must have picked that up in a school-book. It's a rare thing to see even one seal in our day. I remember coming across one on this coast, it was about six feet long, and had short bristly hair. It used to be said that seals defended themselves by throwing stones backwards at any one who came near them."

"That isn't true, father," said Dorothy.

"No, my dear, I never heard of seals having hands, though they have five toes on each paw. It's a Cornish story. We deal in all kinds of wonders here. Remember Jack the Giant-killer was born near to the Land's End."

"Oh, do let us hear about him, father. We are in the very best place to listen to stories of giants and fairies," pleaded Dorothy.

"Not to-day, for it's time to go in to dinner; but I will promise to take you to St. Michael's Mount soon, And then young Dick Nelson will amuse you, for he knows the history of every giant in Cornwall."

"That will be better than your telling us, father, for we shall get another holiday," cried Dorothy, clapping her hands with delight. "I do so like to go in a boat. We shall row across to the Mount, Judith."

"But you'll be sure to choose a fine day, father," said Judith; "I like being on the water very well if it's smooth, but I'm so frightened if the boat is tossed about."

"You may trust me, little one. But a fisherman's daughter should not fear even if the wind blows and the waves beat high. Now let us be moving, for I do not wish your mother or either of the old folks to have the trouble of coming to call us in."

Dinner was just ready when Mr. Trevan and his daughters entered the cottage, and the little party were very soon cosily sitting at the round table eating heartily, for the long drive and cold wind had given them good appetites. The conger pie was pronounced excellent, so were the pasties and other delicacies provided by Mrs. Trevan.

Some time after dinner was spent in talking over old times. Each of the elders of the party had much to say of God's merciful kindness. Then Aunt Molly proposed a walk to the Armed Knight and the Giant's Rock. The children were glad to accompany Aunt Molly, and their father and mother joined them, but the brothers remained in the cottage.

The Armed Knight is a fine rock which resembles a man in armour. The face is seen in profile, and the granite is joined so regularly as to look like a coat of mail. The Giant's Rock is a little farther inland, and consists of enormous stone boulders eighteen feet long. On the top of it are three rock basins. One is said to have been the giant's chair; a smaller stone near goes by the name of his ladle; and another is called his bed. Fable says that a gigantic race of men once inhabited Cornwall, who were supposed to amuse themselves by playing with great boulders of granite. They were said to laugh so loud as to shake the cliffs asunder; and, if they quarrelled, they fought so fiercely that the ground was strewn with the rocks they hurled at one another.

Of course these old stories and legends gave Dorothy and Judith great pleasure, and Aunt Molly was so full of anecdote about the giants that Mr. Trevan was obliged to remind his children that his day's work was only beginning when he reached home.

The farewell between the brothers was a touching one. Uncle Thomas never journeyed so far as Newlyn, and Captain Nance only visited the Land's End once a year; so that when they took leave of each other, they felt it might be the last parting on earth.

"Good-bye," said Thomas Nance; "may God keep you, brother William."

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