The Cornwall Coast. Arthur L. Salmon

but incorrectly group under the name of Plymouth, have been styled the "capital of Cornwall"; and certainly no single Cornish town contains so many Cornish folk as have gathered together to assist and share in the prosperity of this Devonshire locality. The majority of visitors to the Duchy approach it by this avenue, and the old stage-coaches followed very much the same route as the present railway, but conveyed their passengers to Saltash by ferry instead of by bridge. The rail is the successor of an immemorial trackway that linked Devon and Cornwall in days when they had not been subdivided. Even in times long before shires had been dreamed of, it is certain that the river must have been an important tribal boundary. There was a British track by which Cornish tin was carried eastward to a point of nearer contact with the Continent; that point may have been the Isle of Wight, but was more probably Thanet. This track passed the Tamar at Saltash and ran to Liskeard, where it joined a tributary path from the Fosseway; after which junction it crossed the Bodmin Moors and pushed on to Truro and Mount's Bay. This has been spoken of as a Roman road, but it was certainly not of Roman construction, being far earlier in date. There is no proof that the Legions ever entered Cornwall at all, and such Roman remains as Cornwall has yielded may be attributed to British residents of Roman culture and taste. Cornwall was never conquered, in the sense of occupation, either by Roman or Teuton; and the conquest of the Ivernians, or Iberians, by the Celts must have been very partial and chiefly in the nature of a military predominance, if we may judge by the comparatively short stature, dark skin and hair, that are still largely characteristic of Cornish folk.

      Plymouth has another link with Cornwall, though it must be considered a fabulous one. One of the suggested derivations for the name of Cornwall is Corineus. According to Geoffrey of Monmouth, Corineus was one of the companions of the Trojan Brutus, who landed at Totnes and proceeded to bestow his name and his rule upon Britain. In support of this we may quote Milton, with a suggestion that he was a greater poet than historian: "The Iland, not yet Britain but Albion, was in a manner desert and inhospitable, kept only by a remnant of giants, whose excessive force and tyranny had consumed the rest. Them Brutus destroies, and to his people divides the land, which, with some reference to his own name, he thenceforth calls Britain. To Corineus Cornwall, as now we call it, fell by lot; the rather by him liked, for that the hugest giants in rocks and caves were said to lurk still there; which kind of monsters to deal with was his old exercise." He was indeed the father of Cornish wrestling, which has ever since been so popular and so excellent. The poet proceeds to tell us how Corineus wrestled with the giant Goemagog (or Gogmagog) and threw him into the sea. Drayton, in relating the same legend, hints at the true cause that enabled the smaller Neolithic Ivernians to subdue the taller Paleolithic inhabitants; it being a fact that there was a difference in height great enough to be magnified by fancy and exaggeration into the myth of the giants. He tells how Gogmagog was brought forward as a champion to daunt the Trojan invaders:—

      "Great Gogmagog, an oak that by the rootes could tear;

       So mighty were (that time) the men who livèd there:

       But, for the use of arms he did not understand

       (Except some rock or tree that coming next to hand,

       He raised out of earth to execute his rage),

       He challenge makes for strength, and offereth there his gage."

      If there is any basis to this Brutus legend at all, it may be taken as denoting an invasion of higher culture, of the later Stone or early Metal Age, opposed to the greater physical strength but inferior weapons of a lower scale in civilisation. Methods and materials of war were the standard of advance then, as they seem to be still the measure of dominance now. All tradition states that the struggle between Corineus and the giant took place on Plymouth Hoe, on a spot now partly covered by the Citadel. Plymouthians so devoutly cherished the legend that they preserved the figures of the two wrestlers, cut in the turf after the manner of the famous White Horses; but either a greater scepticism or another need for the site has caused the figures to vanish long since. As Corineus, by the same tradition, became first Duke of Cornwall, it was supposed that he bestowed his name on the Duchy; but the "Corn" is not so easily identified as this, and to get at the true origin we should have to understand more definitely the derivation of the tribal name Cornavii. But it does seem that the Plymouth Hamoaze can claim to be the Hamo's Port which Geoffrey of Monmouth wrongly identified with Southampton; and this proves that the fine estuary, where the pulse of national life now beats so strongly, was a haunt of navigators, defenders and invaders, in days before Britain's story had begun to be written. Britain also can never forget the part that Plymouth played in repulsing the Great Armada. It may or may not have been true that Drake was playing bowls on the Hoe when the Spanish ships were sighted; it may not be true that he said, "There's time to play the game out and to thrash the Spaniards afterwards." We can cherish this doubtful tradition or not, as we happen to be credulous or sceptical; but in any case that was the genuine spirit of the West Country in those days of stress, and that was the spirit by which the British Empire was moulded. It was a spirit born of rough seas and unruly winds, the confidence that sprang from successful struggle with peril and difficulty, the pluck that confesses nothing to be impossible. It was a spirit that loved sport, yet never shrank from war.

      But the glorious memories that linger on Plymouth Hoe, perhaps the finest promenade in the kingdom, must not hinder us from passing over to the Cornwall coasts that are luring us with all their varied and exquisite beauty. We cannot stay to recall the sailing of the Mayflower from Plymouth Barbican, nor the wonderful siege endured by the town during the great Civil War—the fiercest siege of all that sad conflict, successfully sustained by the Plymouthians against the forces that the King's generals, backed by loyal Cornwall, could bring against them. The tales and associations that belong to the "Three Towns" are of the deepest interest; and surely no other English shires have so grand a dividing-line as this mouth of the three rivers. We must not forget that Devon itself was once a part of Cornwall or "West Wales."

      We may well start our journey round the coast at Mount Edgcumbe, where we find ourselves on Cornish soil, however eagerly Plymouthians may claim the Mount as one of their special beauty-spots. There is good excuse for the tradition that the Spanish Admiral, Medina Sidonia, when he caught sight of Mount Edgcumbe on his way up the Channel in charge of the Armada, was so impressed by its loveliness that he selected the estate as his own future reward of victory. It is pretty certain, however, that on this occasion the Admiral would not have sighted Mount Edgcumbe at all until after-events had begun to render him a little less cocksure of the result. But he may have seen the manor during some earlier and more peaceful visit. The Edgcumbes are a Devonshire family, coming from the neighbourhood of Tavistock; the estate came to the possession of Sir Piers Edgcumbe by his marriage with Joan Durnford, of East Stonehouse, and the present house was begun by his son, Sir Richard, in 1553. It is possible that Sidonia had been a guest of Sir Richard's in the following year, when there was a notable gathering of Admirals here. There are some defences still standing that were erected in anticipation of the Armada, and these were brought into use by the Civil War, when Royalist Edgcumbe frowned defiance at Parliamentary Plymouth across the Sound. But it was Plymouth that had the last word, and Edgcumbe had to surrender in 1645. The peaceful memories of the spot are more in accord with its beauty than those of discord and bloodshed; that beauty, and the number of its distinguished visitors, had made it famous throughout Europe. The place has been noted for its hospitality and for its many guests, from the days of Cosmo de' Medici to those of our late King. During his stay at Torquay, after the close of the Franco-German War, the Emperor Napoleon III. came hither with his son; and it was only two days later that the Crown Prince of Prussia, afterwards the beloved Emperor Frederick, was here with his wife and sons, one of whom, the Kaiser, now looms so large in the imagination of Europe. But art has its associations with this spot, even more interesting than those of royalty. The elder Vandevelde is supposed to have been here, and to have painted his "Royal Charles" as the guest of Sir Richard Edgcumbe; this and other paintings of his are preserved among the art treasures. A little more certainty attaches to the visits of Sir Joshua Reynolds. He was the son of the headmaster of Plympton School—a school that can boast connection with three other famous artists: Northcote, Eastlake, and Haydon; and as a boy young Reynolds became a frequent companion of the second Lord Edgcumbe, then a lad of about his own age. The two between them painted a portrait of Thomas Smart, Vicar of Maker, who was the young