Paleologus
The river winds in such deep curves above Botus-fleming that Landulph is almost surrounded by its waters. In the quiet churchyard lies Theodore Paleologus, the last descendant of the Christian emperors of the east. Some years ago the vault in which he lies was accidentally opened and it was seen that he had been a tall man with a long head and a beard of unusual dimensions. During his lifetime this man, who might have been an emperor, had been reduced to such straits of poverty, that he had written to that soldier of fortune, the first Duke of Buckingham, praying to be taken into his service. In the letter, which has been preserved, he pathetically describes himself as a gentleman, born of a good house, a soldier from his birth, accomplished and worthy of the name he bears, but unfortunate in the reverse of fortune.
Pentillie
Above Landulph the curving flood gradually narrows into the semblance of an ordinary river and goes softly between woods and orchards and farmlands till the finely placed grey towers of Pentillie, built by that eccentric charlatan, Sir William Tillie, come into view. It is a mistake to hurry through this scenery in the bustling steamer that ploughs up from Plymouth, gives you barely time to swallow a fine strawberry at Calstock and rushes back again. The Tamar, with its forest-clad declivities, its rocks and crags and cliffs, its long reaches of shining water fringed with deep green meadows and woodland, is essentially a river for the man with leisure. In the opinion of those who have seen both, the scenery far surpasses that of the belauded Dart. The production of arsenic has discoloured the water in parts, as the mine shafts have destroyed the sylvan charm of the shore, but this is only for a short distance above New Bridge, the New Bridge over which Essex so foolishly led his troops in 1644.
Cotehele
The Tamar is navigable for good sized vessels as far as the Weir Head, but that is away beyond first Cotehele and then Calstock, past Harewood, the most easterly part of the county, a peninsula which, like Landulph, is nearly an island, and even past the craggy Morwell Rocks.
Cotehele, a Tudor mansion, "antient, large, strong, and fayre," was once the chief seat of the Edgcumbe family. On the cliff can be seen the little chapel built by Richard Edgcumbe in gratitude for his escape from the myrmidons of Richard III. (see page 136). The chestnut trees in these woods are large and of great age, but suffered severely from the blizzard of 1891. Within the house is an interesting chapel with, under the pulpit, a small apartment, known as "the Leper's Room." In the vault, the mother of the first baron was buried (1742) while in a trance. "The knave of a sexton, the night after the funeral, broke open the coffin with intent to steal the rings which adorned the body, when, to his utter alarm, she who was thought to be dead opened her eyes and began to move; thereat the thief fled amain as though chased by the awakened spirit, leaving his lanthorn behind him, which served to light the lady out of the vault."
The simple brevity of the account is delightful. No nerves on the part of the dame, whose motto must have been "noblesse oblige." We picture her stepping gracefully out of her narrow bed, taking that lanthorn, so conveniently left, and in her white shroud making her way to the supper-room, where no doubt her sorrow-stricken descendants were sustaining life with beef and beer and bread. Were they really and truly glad to see her? She must have been a woman, not only of great presence of mind, but of strong character, and we, at this distance, can look back admiringly; but as to her dutiful and obedient children—well, one wonders.
Hingston Down
The New Bridge leads directly out to the high land of Hingston Down, where before stannary laws were enacted and coinage towns assigned, the tinners of Devon and Cornwall met on Kit Hill and held their parliament. During the fourteenth century difficulties arose, and after that only the Cornish came to the old earthwork for their debates. An interesting light is shed, by a speech of Sir Walter Raleigh's in Parliament, when Lord Warden of the Stannaries, on the men and their earnings. In those days it would appear that the pay of a working tinner was 4s. a week, finding himself. Of this Sir Walter boasts as a great change for the better inasmuch as previously the tinner had received but half that amount.