PRUSSIA COVE. THE SMUGGLERS' BATTLE
"Seventy years since, a native of Breage called 'Carter,' but better known, from a most remarkable personal resemblance to Frederick the Great, as the 'King of Prussia,' monopolised most of the smuggling trade of the west. He chose as the seat of his business a rocky cove two miles east of Marazion, which continues to bear the name of Prussia Cove."—Robert Hunt, F. R. S.
Where was the captain of the Helston hurlers?
The last time he was seen was on the cliff when the prize hurling ball disappeared. He had disengaged himself from the tumbling contestants when the ball escaped from the hand of the prostrate player, and saw it roll swiftly into a neighbouring ravine that led downward, like a funnel, to the sands below. Like a meteor he was after it and was out of view before any of his fellows noticed his absence. Down the narrow pathway he plunged with reckless steps, intent only on possessing the ball and had just grasped it, when crash! a part of the footpath gave way and down, down, down, he slipped, faster and faster. He saw the ground and pebbles fly past him upward as if endued with the power of ærial flight. He grasped futilely at the flying shrubs and boulders and then came the sickening sense of flying out into space over the cliff edge.
Then there was a shock, a sharp pain and,—all was a blank.
When he returned to consciousness, he was on a cot with a rough, kindly face bending over him.
"Drink, m'lad, it'll do 'ee good. Clunk un all down."
He felt something at his lips and mechanically swallowed it. The liquor, or whatever it was, revived him in a short time and he sat up.
"Where am I? Am I hurt?"