“They are food, money, and light,
All in one night.”[3]
Should pilchards when in bulk[4] make a squeaking noise, they are crying for more, and another shoal will quickly be in the bay.
Fishermen dread going near the spot where vessels have been wrecked, as the voices of the drowned often call to them there, especially before a storm. Sometimes their dead comrades call them by their names, and then they know for certain that they will soon die; and often when drowning the ghosts of their friends appear to them. They are seen by them sometimes taking the form of animals.
Mr. Bottrell speaks of a farmer’s wife who was warned of her son’s death by the milk in the pans ranged round her dairy being agitated like the sea waves in a storm. There is a legend common to many districts of a wrecker who rushed into the sea and perished, after a voice had been heard to call thrice, “The hour is come, but not the man.” He was carried off by the devil in a phantom ship seen in the offing. But ships haunted with seamen’s ghosts are rarely lost, as the spirits give the sailors warning of storms and other dangers.
In a churchyard near the Land’s End is the grave of a drowned captain, covered by a flat tombstone; proceeding from it formerly the sound of a ghostly bell was often heard to strike four and eight bells. The tale goes that when his vessel struck on some rocks close to the shore, the captain saw all his men safely off in their boat, but refused himself to leave the ship, and went down in her exactly at midnight, as he was striking the time. His body was recovered, and given decent burial, but his poor soul had no rest. An unbelieving sailor once went out of curiosity to try if he could hear this bell; he did, and soon after sailed on a voyage from which he never returned.
Spectre ships are seen before wrecks; they are generally shrouded in mist; but the crew of one was said to consist of two men, a woman, and a dog. These ships vanish at some well-known point. Jack Harry’s lights, too, herald a storm; they are so called from the man who first saw them. These appear on a phantom vessel resembling the one that will be lost.
On boarding a derelict, should a live cat or other animal be found, it is thrown into the sea and drowned, under the idea that if any living thing is in her, the finders can claim nothing from the owners. In fact she is not a derelict.
The apparition of a lady carrying a lanthorn always on one part of the Cornish coast[5] foretells a storm and shipwrecks. She is supposed to be searching for her child who was drowned, whilst she was saved, because she was afraid to trust it out of her arms. For the legends of “The Lady of the Vow” and “The Hooper or Hooter of Sennen Cove,” see ante, p. 71.[6] Mermaids are still believed in, and it is very bad to offend them, for by their spite harbours have been filled up with sand. They, however, kindly take idiot children under their protection. The lucky finder of one of their combs or glasses has the power (as long as it remains in his possession) of charming away diseases.
Boats are said to come to a sudden standstill when over the spot where lies the body of a drowned man, for whom search is being made. The body is supposed to rise when drowned, on the seventh, eighth, or ninth day. Sailors regard many things as bad omens, such “as a loaf of bread turned upside-down on a table.” (This will bring some ship to distress.) They will not begin a voyage on Childermas-day, nor allow a piece of spar-stone (quartz) to be carried on board a vessel: that would ensure her striking on a rock. Of course, they neither whistle when there, nor speak of hares, two most unlucky things; and should they meet one of these animals on their way to the place of embarkation they think it far wiser to turn back home, and put off sailing for a tide. Hares (as already noticed) play a great part in Cornish folk-lore. The following amusing story I had from a friend:—“Jimmy Treglown, a noted poacher living in a village of West Cornwall, became converted at a revival meeting; he was tempted on his way to class-meeting one Sunday morning soon after by the devil in the form of a beautiful hare. Jimmy said, ‘There thee art, my dear; but I waan’t tooch thee on a Sunday—nor yet on a weeky day, for that matter.’ He went briskly on his way for a few paces, and then, like Lot’s wife, he was tempted to look behind him. Alas! in Jimmy’s own words, ‘There she was in her seat, looking lovely. I tooked up a stone, and dabbed at her. Away she runned, and fare-ee well, religion. Mine runned away with her. I went home, and never went to class no more.[7] You see it was the devil, and ‘simmen to me’ (seeming) I heard ’un laugh and say, ‘Ah! ah! Jimmy, boy, I had thee on the hip then. Thee must confess thee’st had a fair fall.’ So I gave in, and never went nigh the ‘people’ (Wesleyans) no more. Nobody should fire at hares of this sort, except with a silver bullet; they often appear as white, but the devil knowed I couldn’t be fooled with a white ’un.’ ” Nothing is too ridiculous to be told of hares. Another old man from St. Just (still living) once recited this anecdote in our kitchen, and from his grave manner evidently expected it to be believed:—“I was out walking (he said) one Sunday morning, when I saw a hare in a field which I longed to have; so I shied a bit of ‘codgy wax’ (cobbler’s wax), the only thing I had in my pocket, at ’un, when he ran away. What was my surprise on getting over a stile to see two hares in the next field face to face, the ‘codgy wax’ had stuck to the nose of the first, and he in his fright had runned against the other, and was holden ’un fast, too. So I quietly broke the necks of both, and carried em home.”