the wildest of british wild sports is the pursuit of the seal in the almost inaccessible cliff-caves to which it at times resorts. of its haunts along the north coast of cornwall—it is but rarely seen on the south—from the land’s end to tintagel, the caverns of hell’s bay are perhaps those which it most frequents. more secluded or safer fastnesses it would be difficult to imagine, yet in these it may be surprised by those who do not shrink from the peril the pursuit involves. the nearest homestead to the black cliffs, as those skirting hell’s bay are named, is reskageage; and to its occupant, mr n., who has led many expeditions against the seals, i owed the opportunity of sharing a bit of sport the wildness of which it is beyond my power to declare.
he had promised to send me word when circumstances seemed favourable to our purpose, and one morning towards the end of september 189-, whilst staying at st ives, i received the following message from him:—“come if possible to-morrow (thursday) afternoon. i have just seen three seals under the cliffs, and the chances are we shall find some in the caves, as they have not been disturbed for a long time. one of the light-keepers of godrevy tells me that he has not seen so many playing about the reef for years. if you sail across the bay and the water is smooth, land on the north side of the red river.”
a street at st ives.
after sending a wire that i should come without fail, i made arrangements with a boatman to take me across the bay. it was close on three o’clock the following afternoon when we rounded the pier head and set the bow of our little craft for gwithian beach. a fair wind filled the brown sail and drove us at a merry pace over the waves of this loveliest of bays, where the cornish sea displays its vividest hues in a setting of silver sand. landing was practicable, and the boat was beached near where my friend was awaiting me on the shore.
“you’re rather late,” said he, as we shook hands.
“well now, you had better go and have a good look at the cliffs whilst it’s light. you’ll see where i’ve been whitewashing the rocks. get the twists and turns of the way down fixed in your mind: that will be helpful later on. in the meanwhile i’m going to overhaul the whole of the gear.”
i took the direction he indicated and, stepping out briskly across the intervening neck of rising ground between the two bays, soon reached the dizzy edge of the cliffs. a little on my left hand, zigzagging down the steep descent and almost to the edge of the foam, lay a white dotted line that was to guide us in the darkness. the mouths of the caves—there are four—frequented by the seals were some two or three hundred feet below me, but i could not see them.
bleak and lone are these gwithian cliffs, merciless the winds that sweep them. not a tree or a bush is to be seen, and even the heather is stunted. no note of songbird meets the ear, nor scream of seafowl, only the sullen boom of the atlantic groundswell in the caves so far below. along the coast towards newquay sunlit headlands stretched out into the ocean; and the low promontory of trevose, dim and unsubstantial-looking, lay on the far horizon. the mellow rays of the sun now and again caught the snow-white plumage of some bird along the coast, and lit up the surf at the foot of the distant cliffs.
not a gull floated over the bay below me; but a string of cormorants, with black flight, skimmed the heaving surface just beyond the dark shadow of the coastline, and disappeared round a jagged point.
i was following the last of these birds with my eyes, when my gaze was arrested by the appearance of a seal below me, and as far as i could judge, not twenty yards from the mouth of one of the caves. it carried its head, which looked as black as jet, clear of the surface, and betrayed not the least sign of alarm. after about a minute it sank—it did not dive—out of sight. i remained watching, in the hope that the quaint-looking creature would show itself again; but, as it gave no sign and the sun was nearing the horizon, i left the cliff and made my way across the heather and stubble to reskageage.
i found my friend in the barn. the light of a candle stuck against the wall fell on the sun-browned faces of the farmhands, who watched him as he overhauled the equipment for our expedition. the various details were displayed on the lid of a big wooden chest that had once held the tin-ore between “ticketing” days at wheal margy. there lay some dozen torches, consisting of small branches of elm, about three feet in length, with pieces of white rag wound round one end and secured by bits of string; three small bottles containing oil, a rather heavy hammer with a new haft about three and a half feet long, a powerful gaff, a long-bladed knife, a revolver and cartridges. near a big coil of rope was a sack of very bulky appearance, which somewhat excited my curiosity. undoing the string round the neck of it, my friend drew out a rope-ladder ten inches in width and between fifty and sixty feet long. the rungs were of iron, about three-eighths of an inch in diameter, and perhaps fourteen inches apart. the strength of the ladder had previously been tried by the tug-of-war test, but now my host carefully examined the rope where it passed through eyes in the rungs, to make sure that it had not been weakened by friction or by rust. no defects being found, the free ends of the ropes were tied together, forming a triangle with the top rung; and the ladder was again stowed away in the sack. the big coil of rope was next overhauled. it was knotted at intervals of about three feet.
“what’s that for?” i asked.
“we keep that up in the adit, in case anything goes wrong with the ladder.”
“and the knots?”
“they make swarming up easier.”
a vague idea of the mode of approach and of egress from the cave began to dawn upon me. “there’s only one way out?” i inquired.
“by the adit is the only way, unless you swim for it before the tide covers the mouth of the cave.”
“there’s some ledge out of reach of the tide, where you can wait till it falls?”
“no, there’s scarcely foothold for a shag or a cliff-owl on the walls of the big cave.”
i confess to feeling slightly unnerved at the prospect, the perilous character of which was now evident. however, i meant going through with the business, which was of my own inviting; but though i had the utmost confidence in my friend, it seemed to me it would be safer, in the event of accidents, that three rather than two should descend into the “big cave,” as he had called it. it is trying enough to a novice to be let down over a cliff in broad daylight to reach a peregrine’s or raven’s nest, but i could see that was nothing in comparison with the night expedition before me. in the circumstances, it is natural that the idea of sending for the earthstopper should have occurred to me. not only was he accustomed to the cliffs at night, but he was of firm nerve and of ready resource. i lost no time in suggesting it; already i feared it was too late.
“very well,” replied my friend, “in case of accident—not that i expect any, mind you—we couldn’t have a better man. fill in a form—you will find some on my table—and tom there shall take it at once. there isn’t a moment to lose.”
a few minutes later the lad was cantering down the lane between the sand-dunes with this message: “be here by midnight. ride or drive. seal hunt between twelve and one. t——, reskageage, gwithian.”
my friend was extinguishing one of the torches as i re-entered the barn. evidently he was not content until he had tested everything, even the oil. i could not but remark to him on the extreme care of his preparations.
“i like to see to every detail myself in a ticklish job of this sort,” he said, as he laid the torch down by the side of the gaff: “a weak spot in the rope, a flaw in the haft of the hammer, bad cartridges or wet matches, may mean more than spoiled sport.”
leaving the barn, we made our way across the rickyard to the house.
a cold wind was rustling the leaves of the wind-clipt elm that had supplied handles for our torches; and, as the air was chilly, i was glad to get indoors. after supper we withdrew into my friend’s sanctum and pulled our chairs up to the furze fire which blazed on the wide hearth. cases of rare birds and curious relics hung against the walls, and the floor was covered with sealskins.
in reply to some questions about the seals, my host told me it was an old man that spent most of his time about the cliffs, egg-collecting, and looking for things cast up by the sea, who had first called his attention to them. this had led to his finding a way to the caves—for the secret had died with the smugglers who used them—and eventually to the animals themselves. the greatest number of seals he had killed at one time was seven, he said, and the heaviest carcase would weigh five or six hundredweight. his opinion was that at least some of the seals remain on the coast all the year round, and that they do not go far out to sea to fish. they fed chiefly on the herring, but he had seen one rise in hell’s bay with a big flat-fish of some sort, probably a turbot, writhing in its mouth. then, suddenly jumping up in the middle of an explanation why the eye of the seal is big and the otter’s small—“he’s coming,” said he.
we went to the garden gate and looked down the road and, sure enough, a light was coming towards us.
“how on earth did you know he was close at hand?” i asked in surprise. “you didn’t hear anything, did you?”
“no, i did not hear the horse neigh nor the sound of its hoofs, for they fell and are still falling on sand; but the dog must have heard, for i noticed him prick his ears and listen. you see, andrew’s time was all but up; and, putting the two together, i didn’t hesitate to say he was coming.”
more and more distinct grew the light; then we heard the thud of hoofs where the track is clear of sand; and at last andrew, seated on a rough pony, and holding the lantern in his left hand, emerged from the darkness.
“good evening, gentlemen. i was afeerd i was too late, though i’ve shogged on as fast as i could.”
the old shepherd having taken charge of the steaming pony, we soon had the earthstopper before the furze fire.
“that looks cheerful after the black night, tho’ et do make ee blink like a cat at fust.”
“you’ve had a lonely ride, andrew?”
“no, sir, i’m never lonely, unless maybe when stopping the land’s end cliffs on a wild night. why, lelant flats was all alive with curleys and seabirds as i crossed the caunsway. niver heerd such whistlin’ in all my born days. et must be gettin’ on for low water.”
“well now, drink up that glass of toddy and we’ll be on the move. it’s half an hour to low water, and it’s time we were on our way.”
whilst my friend was saying this, i looked at the hands of the clock in the corner. it was seven minutes past twelve. our equipment having been divided among us, we set out across the fields for the cliffs.
“we’ve forgotten the sack,” i said, as we crossed the stubble.
“that’s all right,” replied my friend.
it was indeed a black night, as the earthstopper had remarked. a great bank of cloud hung like a curtain before the western heaven, and shut out the light of half the stars. on our left godrevy shot out its warning beams at regular intervals, and far away up channel trevose light shone bravely in the gloom. the keen, salt wind blew straight in our faces as we breasted the high ground near the sea. by-and-by the sullen roar which reached our ears made us cautious, for we had neared the edge of the cliff; and, when we had roped ourselves together, our guide took the lead and we began the steep descent.
the otter excepted, there is no more wary animal than the seal; so we climbed down past the stones, ghost-like in their white shrouds, as noiselessly as possible, and at length arrived at the foot of the cliff. there was no beach, only huge wet boulders, between which the tide gurgled. we had scrambled—it was rough going—some distance over these rocks before i felt a pull on the rope, and then, peering through the darkness, i saw that our guide was standing at the entrance to a tunnel that proved to be the way into the seals’ cave, the mouth of which is unapproachable except by boat. here we met with an unexpected impediment. the mast of a ship had got wedged into the passage, leaving only a narrow space between its splintered surface and the rocky walls.
“hand over your lantern, andrew,” said my friend, as he struck a match on his trousers.
“it’s all right,” said he, holding the light against the mouth of the tunnel; “i think we can get through. now, undo the rope, and follow me as quiet as mice. you’ve got the hammer, andrew?”
“yes.”
this in whispers; and then we squeezed through the cramped space. the passage was some five feet in height and four in breadth. the floor was very irregular, and covered with water lying in pools of varying depths. at the further side of a deep pool our guide paused, and held a light over the water. this enabled me to avoid the holes between the loose rocks at the bottom, and i managed to get through by wading thigh-deep. the old earthstopper in his fur cap and velveteen coat followed, trying the depth with the long, white haft of the hammer he carried. i noticed that he left the water as noiselessly as an otter would have done. the increasing noise of the waves warned us as we progressed along the tunnel, that we were getting near the seals’ retreat. in the great cave in which we soon stood, the roaring at its mouth and the reverberations within produced a noise that was deafening. three torches were lit; and we advanced over some loose rocks and shingle to a shelving bed of white sand, on which the seals are generally found. down this, when surprised, they shuffle to face their enemies and meet death. it was disappointing to find none at home.
hell’s bay.
we then proceeded to explore the inmost recesses, to reach which we had to scramble on all fours between the descending roof and the ascending floor of the cave. in one of these, that reminded me of a chapel in westminster abbey, was a baby seal, which, judging from its plaintive bleats, seemed to know the danger it was in. it was about a foot and a half long, of a creamy colour, with big, pleading eyes. leaving the little creature we returned to the rocky part of the floor, and held the torches high above our heads to try to illuminate the cave. we could see the great walls of rock for perhaps twenty or thirty feet, but the light failed to scatter the gloom which ever shrouds the lofty roof. here and there in these darker heights projections of rock were dimly visible, looking like spectral faces craned forward to peer at us. it was a weird scene that this great, resounding ocean-hall presented, and one that haunts the memory. there is little wonder that legends and superstitions cluster round these caves.
“come,” said our guide, “there’s no time to be lost,” and in a few minutes we were again scrambling between the mast and the rock. i was glad to get a glimpse of the stars again. out at sea, i could discern the light of some vessel going up towards the bristol channel. as i climbed the dusky cliff-side on the heels of our guide, and with andrew behind me, i tried to brace my nerves for the ordeal that lay before us. the approach to the cave for which we were making is fraught with peril. few attempt it, and of those few scarce one makes the descent a second time. this cave is the securest stronghold of the seals along the wild coast of cornwall.
we might have made our way up some seventy feet when the guide struck a rude track on the cliff-side, and this we followed until the light of the lantern fell on the old shepherd sitting with the sack containing the rope-ladder. we had arrived at the entrance to the adit for which we were making, and along this we all proceeded in single file. it was a strange way of reaching a cave the mouth of which lay sixty feet below. we had not advanced thirty yards before we could hear the hollow roar of the waves.
“be careful here,” said the guide, as he held his torch over a chasm. for some reason, a piece of the partition-wall between the adit and the cave has been destroyed, and with it half the narrow footway. it was a dangerous spot to pass in the lurid, unsteady light; but the shepherd made nothing of it, and as the projecting part of the sack on his back lay over the chasm when he skirted it, he was able to hug the wall on his right. some thirty yards farther in, the tunnel pierced the wall of the cave, and again the hollow roar of the sea reached our ears. whether the adit was driven on a vein of copper is uncertain, but there is no doubt that at one time it was used by smugglers. kegs of brandy, lace and silk goods were probably taken to the mouth of the cave in boats, and afterwards hauled up to the tunnel and, as opportunity offered, distributed thence over the countryside amongst the smugglers’ clients, to wit, the magistrates, landlords, and tenant farmers.
projecting from the wall of the cave, about a foot above the level of the adit, is a stout iron bar, over which our guide, by leaning forward, placed the end of the ladder so that the ropes which had been knotted together lay on each side of it, in the acute angle between the bar and the wall. the ladder was then dropped in the chasm. clink, clink, clink—clink—clink. the seals must surely have been startled by the unusual noise made by the iron rungs striking against the rocky wall of their wild retreat. vain warning! for some of the big boulders which cover part of the floor of the cave are dry at low water, and effectually prevent their escape. our guide was the first to descend. i followed him into the dark abyss. the descent down the wooden ladders of a tin-mine is child’s play to going down a rope-ladder which lies against a sheer wall. twice my feet lost grip of the slender staves, and the second time, failing to recover the rung, i had to go down hand over hand to the point where the ladder hung clear of the rock. here it twisted and turned, adding a little variety to the difficulties of the descent. the earthstopper, with the hammer slung across his back, followed, coming down hand over hand nearly the whole way.
“that ladder’s a rum un!” he shouted in my ear, as we stood on the rock near the foot of it.
two lighted torches were then fixed in crannies in the walls; and after lighting three others, we moved forward, each holding one in his left hand. beyond the slippery boulders over which we were creeping, the flare of the torches fell on the heaving surface of a deep, rocky pool.
“look out!” shouted my friend, “they’re in.”
we drew a little nearer to the water, now lashed into foam as a seal rushed up and down. two shots were fired as its glistening head showed above the water, but the only effect as far as i could see was to enrage the creature, and make it more aggressive than at first. for, when it reached our end of the pool again, it threw itself out of the water on to a rock, where it rested momentarily, looking more like some antediluvian creature sculptured in black marble than a living seal. then with a hoarse roar it slid down the face of the rock and shuffled towards us in a most menacing manner.
“stand clear, and don’t fire again!” shouted andrew as he swung the hammer preparatory to delivering a blow. my friend jumped aside; and, as the huge brute came within striking distance, the hammer caught it full on the head and felled it to the ground. a tremor passed over the body; the seal was dead.
whilst the battle lasted, angry bellowings came from the shelving beach beyond, where other seals—blurred, restless forms—awaited our attack. but wholesale slaughter was not our object; not another shot was fired. i would have liked to get nearer to the herd, but the danger of crossing the pool was too great.
“for god’s sake, don’t think of it!” shouted my friend; “we’ll light more torches.” this done, andrew picked up the one he had laid on the rocks, and we advanced to the edge of the water with a torch in each hand, holding them well up, and forward at full arm’s-length. it was the sight of a lifetime. five huge beasts, two grey, the rest a dirty yellow, mottled with black spots, lay swaying on the sand, prepared to make a rush—they can shuffle down a slope at a great pace—if we entered the pool; and these were not all, for in dark recesses beyond i saw indistinct forms move, and once i thought i caught the gleam of liquid eyes. for several minutes we stood fascinated by the wild scene, but it behoved us not to linger. once or twice i noticed my friend turn his face towards the mouth of the cave. in the excitement he had not forgotten that the tide had turned. there was not time to skin the dead seal and remove the blubber; so my friend, who meant coming for this purpose at next low water, went to the foot of the ladder and shouted to the shepherd to throw down the rope. with some difficulty he made himself understood, for the roar of the waves was now greater than ever; and a few moments after the shepherd had shouted “stand clear!” down came the coil on to the boulders. one end of the rope was tied securely to one of the flippers of the dead seal—a huge beast—and the other round a rock on which a bigger one rested. andrew and i were taking a last look at the seals when our guide called out that there was no time to lose; and, indeed, the tide was washing the boulders at the foot of the ladder when we got there.
“take your time, sir,” said andrew as he held the bottom of it, “and higher up, press your knee against the wall, thet’ll clear the staave above.”
when a third of the way up, i looked towards the inner part of the cave. profound gloom shrouded it, though the lights still flickered on the walls; and the seals, as far as i could hear, had ceased their angry challenges. having reached the adit, i held a torch over the chasm to light the earthstopper in his ascent. when he was near the top of the ladder, i saw that his face was spattered with blood. my friend having also reached the adit, the ladder was hauled up and put into the sack, and we made our way again into the open air. scarcely a word was said as we climbed the cliff and crossed the heather and stubble to the farmhouse. after a wash and a hurried supper, the earthstopper attached his lantern to the saddle and rode down the track towards gwithian churchtown. i could hear him jogging along until he reached the place where the road lies under feet of driven sand. the black clouds had lifted a little, and crobben hill was dimly discernible against the stars.
“pity we can’t have spoart without killin’,” were the earthstopper’s words as we had stood near the dead seal, and i thought of them as i turned to go indoors.
