From the North Foreland to Penzance

by Clive Holland

ST. ANTHONY’S LIGHTHOUSE, FALMOUTH

The history of the Killigrew family is so bound up with that of Falmouth, and has so many elements of romance, and stirring incidents connected with it, that we find ourselves compelled to deal with it somewhat at length. Moreover, the story serves to throw considerable light upon the life and events of that period when Falmouth was slowly emerging into a place of some maritime importance. That the Killigrews were sometimes lawless, as many of their neighbours undoubtedly also were, goes without saying; but they appear to have had a truly humorous, if somewhat partial, idea of justice, which the following anecdote will exhibit. “All is fish which comes to Killigrew’s net” was the sarcastic observation of a succeeding age, but it may be said to apply equally well, and with as considerable a force, to this earlier period in the family history. Somewhere about the year 1582 a Spanish vessel, of the port of St Sebastian, hard by Biarritz, belonging to one Philip de Ovyo and his partner in the enterprise, John de Chavis, was kidnapped from Falmouth Harbour, so the losers declared, by servants or agents of Sir John Killigrew, the then head of the family.

The complaint seems to have been pressed home in a manner decidedly awkward and distasteful to the accused, and it was decided that the matter must be investigated. The authority appointed was naturally the Commission of Piracy. Happily (for himself) Sir John happened to be the Commission, and what was more natural (at least, in that easy-going age) than that he should investigate and sit in judgement on a case in which he himself was somewhat nearly interested? But to avoid suspicion of bias or evil he invited another prominent man of the district, Godolphin by name, to act with him. The impartiality of the latter might in this more particular age have been questioned, seeing that Godolphin had been accused of misappropriating some of the cargo and treasure which had come ashore in the wreck of a Portuguese ship not very long before Killigrew’s servants’ affair.

But for once justice appears to have been done somehow or other by unexpected means. After it was discovered that some of Killigrew’s servants were missing from the time of the disappearance of the Spanish vessel, and that one of Sir John’s own boats played a prominent part in the affair of cutting out the ship, the Commission (i.e., Killigrew and Godolphin) found that the vessel had been misappropriated, and that the owners were entitled to commiseration. The servants of Killigrew were declared outlaws, and in return for the loss they had suffered the Spanish merchants were given permission to export one hundred and fifty quarters of wheat without paying duty. This may not appear to us adequate compensation for the loss of their ship and its cargo, but they probably made the best of a bad bargain, and considered themselves fortunate to obtain any sort of redress.

Piracy would about this time appear to be the staple industry of this particular district, if not, indeed, also of the greater part of Cornwall. Although outlaws, Killigrew’s servants were not long in Ireland, whence they had fled with the Spanish ship, for a short time after the Commission had given its verdict either they or others were once more in trouble, having been concerned in an attempt to rescue from custody “a notorious and bold pirate, Captain Hammond by name, who had been fortunately captured.” The pirate and his captors appear to have been on their way to the gaol, where, doubtless, the former would have languished until tried and ultimately “depended for the example and terror of evil doers.” The master was, as before, much distressed at the evil deeds of his retainers, but how genuine the sorrow was it is not easy to determine. Suffice it to say that his professed dislike of piracy was not shared by a descendant, one Lady Jane Killigrew, who some few years later, upon seeing a couple of Dutch merchantmen entering the harbour under stress of heavy weather, promptly dispatched her servants to inquire into the cargoes borne by the ships, and other details of how many they had as crews and how they were armed.

The report proved so satisfactory that on the return of the gentle lady’s expedition of inquiry she determined to go aboard herself and secure what she wanted. Perhaps she was distrustful of the bona fides and honesty of her servants, who knows? So she, “thinking it well to pay the Dutchmen some compliment of estate,” had a large boat got ready, and, lest there should be trouble, a good strong crew in it well-armed for emergencies. One can imagine—if a knowledge of the Killigrew methods of welcoming strangers had reached Holland—with what distrust the poor Dutchmen, who had only run into the haven for shelter, must have regarded the approach of her ladyship and her well-armed galley.

The boat speedily swept across the intervening water, Lady Jane and part of the crew clambered up the steep sides of the vessel, whilst the remainder of the party made for the other ship. The Lady Jane soon made clear her demands to the Dutch skipper, whilst the rest of her friends and servants were engaged upon similar work on the other vessel.

It would appear from the account which has come down to us that as far as the Dutch themselves were concerned they were prepared, or at least disposed, to accept the inevitable without forcible resistance. There were Spaniards on board the ships, however, and these were not likely to take things quite so philosophically. The result was that some of these were killed. Tradition asserts that the piratically inclined Lady of Arwenack gave the signal for their dispatch. Be this as it may, the Lady Jane succeeded in confiscating a considerable amount of booty, which tradition again asserts to have been, inter alia, two hogsheads of Spanish money, whilst her servants and the crew of the galley followed her example with alacrity, and annexed anything of value upon which they could lay hands. Times were rough and justice often lagged, and when it did catch up the evildoer sometimes failed to exact a commensurate retribution. But to Lady Jane, the freebooting owner of Arwenack, punishment was ultimately meted out. She was haled to Launceston Castle (where, doubtless, the notorious Captain Hammond also lay in durance a few years before), and was tried, found guilty, and condemned to be executed. Let us hope, with due regard for her birth, breeding, and daring enterprise.

It would seem that after the escapade of Lady Jane Killigrew, although piracy flourished and at times was conducted in a somewhat barefaced manner, little was done to check it or to bring the chief offenders to justice. Most of the vessels engaged in piratical expeditions to the opposite coast of Brittany doubtless came down from Penryn, as it was not for a century after the affair of the Dutch ships that Falmouth assumed any great proportion or came into note as a western port.