That is the light in which the bold men of Cornwall regarded it; that is the way in which it was regarded, not by the ignorant seamen only, but by magistrates, country gentlemen, and parsons alike. As an illustration of this, we may quote the story told by the late Rev. R. S. Hawker, for many years vicar of Morwenstow, on the North Cornish coast:—
“It was full six o’clock in the afternoon of an autumn day when a traveller arrived where the road ran along by a sandy beach just above high-water mark.
“The stranger, a native of some inland town, and entirely unacquainted with Cornwall and its ways, had reached the brink of the tide just as a landing was coming off. It was a scene not only to instruct a townsman, but to dazzle and surprise.
“At sea, just beyond the billows, lay a vessel, well moored with anchors at stem and stern. Between the ship and the shore boats laden to the gunwale passed to and fro. Crowds assembled on the beach to help the cargo ashore.
“On the one hand a boisterous group surrounding a keg with the head knocked in, into which they dipped whatsoever vessel came first to hand; one man had filled his shoe. On the other side they fought and wrestled, cursed and swore.
“Horrified at what he saw, the stranger lost all self-command and, oblivious of personal danger, he began to shout: ‘What a horrible sight! Have you no shame? Is there no magistrate at hand? Cannot any justice of the peace be found in this fearful country?’
“‘No, thanks be,’ answered a hoarse, gruff voice; ‘none within eight miles.’
“‘Well, then,’ screamed the stranger, ‘is there no clergyman hereabouts? Does no minister of the parish live among you on this coast?’
“‘Aye, to be sure there is,’ said the same deep voice.
“‘Well, how far off does he live? Where is he?’