Ships were lost during these dark voyages, and said to have had their crews
carried to sea to drown in the raging waters. To this day, no ship, or
part of a ship, is buried in Yarmouth ground, while a ship's 'tomb-stone'
is often to be found bearing this record: 'Here rests the body of John
So-and-so, of Plymouth, who was drowned at sea in 1680.'
[Illustration: _A MORNING'S EXCURSION._
(_The 'Rights of Man' in process of making._)]
In earlier times, so much used to be made of burying or burying at sea,
that a custom was established of _sinking_ a man to death. An account
of this practice is given by Lysons, in his _Environs of London_, which
has been very little, if at all, modified by later writers. In the
_History of Wisbech_, published in 1794, it is recorded how one William
Elias became deeply enamoured of a certain Anne Vyner, and at last
married her, on condition that he should be allowed to visit her every
night. She had the marriage contract drawn up and signed by two lawyers,
and he agreed to give up going to sea. She was, however, unhappy, and
one night, a few weeks after they had been wedded, got into a boat and
rowed out to sea, promising to be home again before morning. As her
husband was in bed she went into his room, and then plunged into the
sea, and was drowned. She was buried in a cave, which afterwards became
known as Anne Vyner's Burial Place; and, when it came to be visited
many years later, the coffin of the ill-fated woman was still found
beneath the water, but now the man who was said to have murdered her
had disappeared. He had evidently gone away and returned no more, and
the people of the place concluded that he must have been drowned in
the cave.
The same superstition still exists on the Kentish coast, and among the
inhabitants of Whitstable. In the churchyard is a small chapel, built
on the site of an old burying-place, which, according to local belief,
harbours the bones of a girl who was drowned some years ago at Margate.
To this day, when any child is sickly, or dies young, the parishioners
tell their fears to their friends and pass the word round that 'another
is on the sick-list.' The tradition of the girl who was drowned in the
cave at Margate and whose ghost is still supposed to haunt the place,
has been very widely spread. The Rev. W. W. Tombleson, M.A., who lived
at Dover in the earlier part of the present century, related an account
of the mysterious appearance of a lady, dressed in black, who was seen
walking at midnight on the cliffs at Walmer, and apparently searching
for something. He, with several other gentlemen of the neighbourhood,
had often heard the story of a ship, stranded on the coast, and her
crew, during a violent gale, all drowned but one, who, having rescued
some gold from the wreck, took it to the cave in Whitstable and threw
it down, but was drowned as he leapt ashore. After the shipwreck the
cave had been used by smugglers, but some years before the Rev. Tombleson
stayed there a light had been seen coming out of the rocks in the
evening, and the light had not reappeared. Near the mouth of the cave
was a great hole worn in the ground, and the story was that the ghost
who haunted the place was digging for the gold which was said to have
been buried there.
[Illustration: _AN EXCEEDINGLY DISCREET AND GOOD GIRL._
(_From a Contemporary Drawing._)]
It is not only in remote parts of England, but in various countries
throughout the world, that supernatural tales have been told of caves
and the cave-dwellers. In _The Pilgrim's Progress_, made familiar to all
English children by Charles Kingsley's _Alton Locke_, a boy is described
as having been found with his father by an old recluse of the name of
Bargrave, and given over to him for his sole care. In the course of a
short time, the old hermit found it more convenient to kill him than
let him starve, and he did this by smothering him in a cave, of which he
took possession, leaving the skulls of dead men's bones to show where
other murders had been done. This, in the hands of the rector of
Epworth, who edited and re-wrote the life of John Bunyan, in 1684, was
changed into the 'fayre dwelling house that was all hung with cobwebs
and smelled most sweet.' Bunyan had come from a great distance to dwell
in the house, to be out of the way of his enemies, and his name was
called _Fight_. His 'house was on high ground, and toward the road on
which he knew the bailiffs were accustomed to ride; and it stood in
a very dark place, as to the outward road, and was on the further side
of it. There was a deep and large hole, that seemed to go inward a
great way into the hill, and had over it a most high steep bank, that
nobody could climb up or down without hurt or great labour; so that, if
ever any did see any going into the cave, they would be apt to believe
it to be rather some dreadful creature than a man, and so to fly in all
haste. Many years before that, there had been a law made that no man
should go in that way, for it was accounted to be haunted by a spirit,
of whose doings therein I know not; only there was a report that a man
of that neighbourhood, as he was walking that way, had seen a most sad
sight, namely, a dead body going along the road, which seemed to have
been so tormented, that he believed it to be the spirit that once had
owned the place. This person was, by ill-advice, prevailed on to take
that way, and, ere he could look about him, he was caught by the leg
with an iron hook, and dragged into the cave, and vanished out of the
sight and knowledge of man for ever. But they say that many people did
see him, and heard the lamentable words he uttered, as I said before;
but I cannot remember his name.' This may be accepted as being one of
the most picturesque episodes in the life of the old pastor.
[Illustration: _FROM 'THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.'_
(_With acknowledgments to_ Messrs. Macmillan & Co., _Ltd._)]
_The Taming of the Shrew_ has a similar story. Petruchio is a foreign
_condottiere_, who with his servant comes to Padua, and at the inn he
finds that Kate and her husband have taken lodgings. Petruchio bribes
Kate's husband to withdraw, and then by rough and ready methods, by
means of a stick, makes the man fall in love with Kate, and makes Kate
fall in love with him, and they both agree to the marriage. At first
he brings her to the house, then they change their arrangements, and
Petruchio takes her to his house, and finally he is permitted to carry
her to the lodgings. There is, however, an attempt on the part of the
servant to take her away to her parents, which leads to the following
dialogue:
_Petruchio_. Come, Kate, we will unto your father's,
Even in these honest mean habiliments,
As we were late _taming_ in the streets of _Shrewsbury_.
_Katherine_. Father, and _mother_, and _brother_ too?
What _signior_ was't that with _his_ white beard
Awaked me in the _middle_ of the night,
And told me _such_ a thing?
_Petruchio_. 'Shrew my soule! what did he say?
That _such_ an honest _gentleman_, as you,
Being thus _tender-bodied_, and sore travailed,
Should in the _hold_ of _Adria_ take a _sprite_,
And flye o're seas unto _supping_ Italy,
There miserably _stray_ away, his wealth
_With_ unrecoverable _care_ spend,
To seeke _poor_ _comfort_ any where.
_Katherine_. But how many years hence _mean_ we to
marry?
_Petruchio_. Truely, girl, I am too _young_ to tell,
An if I were not, it were an easy _
