The Cornish Coast (South), and the Isles of Scilly

by Charles G. Harper

But I shall proceed by the cliffs, first noting the cave that is to be seen at low water down at Polpear, and the Man-o'-War Rocks out at sea. The name was originally "Maen-an-Vawr," the "great stones," but the tradition of the wreck of a transport there has definitely changed it. The cliff-walk passes "Pistol Meadow," in which numerous mounds still show the places where the seven hundred dead on that occasion were buried. Only two persons are said to have been saved. It is strange that neither the date of the wreck nor the name of the ship has been preserved.

Old Lizard Head, the "false Lizard" as it is sometimes called, gives way to Crane Cove and the larger cove of Caerthillian, where a stream comes down a ravine to the shore. This in turn is succeeded by Pentraeth Beach and by the tall cliffs of Yellow Carn, with the rock of Ynys Vean, i.e. "Little Island," about as big as Westminster Abbey, below.

And down there in front is Kynance Cove, a not very remarkable place at high tide, but of a justly famous beauty at low water. You look down upon it from the cliff called the "Tar Box," which has not the slightest suggestion of tar in its composition: it is properly "Tor Balk." A stream comes swirling down the rock-strewn valley that descends to the Cove. It is from this the Ky-nans, i.e. "Dog's Brook" it is said, that Kynance Cove takes its name.

KYNANCE COVE.

There are but two or three cottages here. Not yet has a hotel been built, but who knows how long before such a thing shall come to pass, and it be possible to sit at a window of its dining-room, overlooking this most typical Cornish scenery, while a German waiter, introducing the soup, asks: "Thig or glear?" May it be long years yet!

Every one knows that the beauties of Kynance are only unveiled at the ebb. Then the sands, the delightful, soft, light-yellow sands appear, where were only heaving waters, and the great islanded rocks are seen embedded in them. There is plenty of colour, and plenty of drawing too, at Kynance: the streaked black, green, purple, red, and pink serpentine rocks, the yellow sands, and the translucent green sea glow brilliantly under a sunny sky; and under any conditions, except fog, the Cove at ebb is full of striking forms. On the west side, between the mainland and the crag called Asparagus Island, rises the Steeple Rock, sometimes called the Soap Rock, from the veins of steatite it contains. It is no fanciful name, for quarries of steatite were worked long ago in the cliffs beyond Rill Head, and the product dispatched to wholesale soap-boilers, and also to Staffordshire, for use in pottery-making. No asparagus now grows on Asparagus Island, which is a rather fearsome, craggy place to climb, especially as not merely a fall on jagged rocks is possible, but a descent afterwards into the horrible green depths of the sea, where the congers live. For this chamoising over the rocks rubber-soled shoes are the best and safest. In them you may dare things not easily to be contemplated in less pliant footgear, and thus may scale the pinnacled rock, and look down from its further side on to Gull Rock and the deep-water channel below.

But the most engaging thing about Asparagus Island is the Devil's Post-Office, which (facilis descensus Averni, you know!) is quite easily reached. It is in working order just below half-tide. At the flood it is entirely submerged. Sometimes it is known as the Devil's Bellows, or again as the Devil's Throat; but whether it be Throat, Bellows, or Post Office, the personality of the owner is unchanged. This natural curiosity is a fissure traversing the entire mass of Asparagus Island, through which the sea-water is forced in conjunction with air, emerging violently and with a reverberating rumbling report, through a narrow slit, not unlike a letterbox. To "post a letter" at this aperture immediately after one of these spoutings is rather a startling experience, unless you have been told of it beforehand. You unsuspectingly lean over and hold a piece of paper at the orifice, and it is rudely and violently snatched away, to the tune of a harsh indrawn snarl, a sound just as though a giant had sharply drawn his breath in between his teeth. And very often it will happen that, in a sudden outrush again of air and water, your letter will be returned to you full in the face on the instant, with a most discourteous drenching. There are gorgeous caverns, dry at low-water, round past the Steeple Rock, known as the Drawing-Room, the Kitchen, and the Parlour; but the finest view-point at Kynance is eastward, back towards the Lizard, with the Lion Rock in the foreground.

The Lion Rock is doubtless so called because it has a certain majesty of outline, and because it does suggest a crouching attitude, as of an animal in readiness for an attack. But it does not look like a lion, and indeed lacks a head, and without a head the noblest lion is a poor thing. But it is true that the longer you look at the Lion Rock, the more you are impressed.

Let those who seek to return direct inland to Lizard Town have a care how they follow the direction indicated by a signpost, which obligingly indicates "The nearest way to Lizard Town." I am inclined to think that the old piskies, devils, and malicious sprites that used to inhabit Cornwall and lure travellers out of their way, now occupy the bodies of all those people who have anything to do with signposts. They generally manage in some way to mislead, and very often indeed they are repainted at the height of the tourist season, when strangers are mostly about; and who else beside a stranger has any need of a signpost?