THE “COUNCIL HALL,” TREWORTHA MARSH
(By kind permission of “The Daily Graphic”)
The whole of the hillside is cut up into paddocks, and a conduit of water was brought from the little stream at Rushleford Gate to supply the settlers with pure drinking water. No traces of burnt slag were found, and consequently the ovens cannot be pronounced to have been made to smelt the ore, but it is strange that there should be several of these ovens. The whole settlement is so curious that I subjoin a general plan, as well as plans of the hovels. The doorways are in several instances perfect. Against the wind and rain the hovels were protected by a high bank to the west. From the Cheesewring, about two and a half miles distant, a line of rails was carried to just above this singular village, and there abandoned. The visitor may well wonder why a railway was carried into the heart of this desolate region; it was apparently an excuse for wasting the money of investors. The bulk of their deposits have disappeared, and no profits have been realised. Trewartha Marsh occupies the bed of a lake that decants over a granite lip into the valley of the Lynher. At some remote period the miners cut down the lip and let off the water, and then turned over the lake bed. A former owner of Trebartha Hall gave to his daughters on their marriage heavy gold rings from the precious ore washed out of the gravel of Trewartha. A stroll among the refuse-heaps that occupy the lake-bed among lanes of water and stretches of morass will show the visitor how great was the industry of the ancient streamers. There are several cairns and barrows on the heights, but none that have been explored have given other results than small stone cists containing bone and wood ash.
On the north side of the marsh were some old cottages, that have been destroyed, and their materials employed for building purposes, in which coins of Elizabeth and Queen Mary were found. A vague tradition exists that a town existed at Tresillern, one of the reaches of the lake, which was submerged for the iniquity of the inhabitants.
A basin of bog—also once a lake—exists at Redmire, and near it is a small circle of upright stones. I was as near lost as might be in this bog in 1891. The Ordnance Survey Office had sent down an official to go over and correct the map of this district, and I was with him. When dusk set in we started for Five Lanes, and lost our way. We both got into Redmire, and had to trip along warily from one apparently firm spot to another. The winter and summer had been unusually wet, and the marsh was brimming with water. Six bullocks had already been lost in it that year.
All at once I sank above my waist, and was being sucked further down. I cried to my companion, but in the darkness he could not see me, and had he seen me he could have done nothing for me. The water finally reached my armpits. Happily I had a stout bamboo, some six feet long, and I placed this athwart the surface and held it with my arms as far expanded as possible. By jerks I gradually succeeded in lifting myself and throwing my body forward, till finally I was able to cast myself full length on the surface. The suction had been so great as to tear the leather gaiters I wore off my legs. I lay full length gasping for nearly a quarter of an hour before I had breath and strength to advance, and then wormed myself along on my breast till I reached dry land.
Some of the Cornish bogs are far worse than those on Dartmoor. Crowdy is particularly ugly and dangerous. In a dry summer they may, however, be traversed, as the surface becomes caked.
Dozmare Pool is, next to Loe Pool, the largest sheet of sweet water in Cornwall. It abounds in fish, and was formerly a great resort of the worker in flint, as innumerable traces of the industry testify. Arrow- and spear-heads, scrapers, and an almost unlimited amount of chips and flakes may be found near it. In the lake is a cranogue, or subaqueous cairn, on which was formerly a palafite dwelling. The bottom of the pool is certain to richly repay exploration.
For those who desire to enjoy moor air at a high elevation, there is a pleasant little inn at Bolventor, called the “Jamaca Inn”; but the visitor must take with him his own supply of liquor, as it is a “temperance house.”
The moors about well reward exploration; they abound in prehistoric antiquities, and in scenes of great but desolate beauty.