Peter Tremayne - An Ensuing Evil and Others

I could not control my amusement, but Holmes calmly began to refill his pipe. “I think that you had better clarify your statement, Sir Jelbart.”

“These ships were heading for the Port of St. Ives. Coasters, they were. Many local captains cut across the mouth of Whitesand Bay instead of standing out to sea. They steer a course between the Cam Bras Longships, rocky islands to the west, and the inshore rocks in order to make up sea time. The wrecks have happened at night. Usually there are no problems for local skippers on this course, for there are lights at strategic points, and the captains of these vessels know the waters well. All three captains of the wrecked coasters had run this course many times.”

“How did this enchantress manifest herself?” I ventured.

“Each survivor says that she was a specter that appeared to the crew dancing on the rocks.”

So serious was the man that I could not suppress a chuckle. “But Holmes…,” I began when I saw him silencing me with a disdainful glance.

“In what form did this specter manifest itself?” he repeated my question. “Some specifics, please.”

“A woman. Gad sir, a naked woman, dancing on one of the rocks. But the figure was large and shimmered white. Indeed, many of the survivors said that they could see right through her.”

“Did anyone hear anything?”

“Not at the time of the sinking, but in the nights following, some locals report that they have heard a heavy breathing from the direction of the rocks. So loud was it that it was heard ashore when the wind was in the right direction. A sound of hissing breath like some giant was hiding behind the rocks. The locals are in fear of the Tribbens, even though it was a favorite spot to lift lobsters.”

“No music? No panpipes?” I smiled sarcastically.

Before the man could answer, Holmes had cut in. “Nothing else was seen around these rocks? Has anyone ventured to examine them?”

“No, sir. The survivors were scared out of their wits, sailors being so superstitious. The fear at the sight of the specter caused the crews to panic, the captains to lose control. It takes only a moments distraction to put a vessel on those rocks. Some seventyfive men have perished, sir, and the news is abroad about the siren of Sennen Cove luring the men to their deaths.”

“And you have come to me. Why?”

“Because, in spite of the merriment of your colleague”-he glanced dourly at me-”I do not believe in ghosts, sir. I am a Methodist. A plain man raised in a plain religion. A man who believes in rationality. I think there is some mischief afoot, but I cannot find an explanation.”

Holmes laid down his pipe for a moment, leaning back in his chair and placing his hands fingertips together, and gave Sir Jelbart a careful scrutiny. “I am sure that you have some explanation, Sir Jelbart. Some theory to propose to me?”

“I have made a study of shipwrecks along this coast, Mr. Holmes. That is why I know the statistics. I believe that wreckers are at work.”

“From what you say, this Sennen Cove is not so far removed from civilization that a gang of wreckers could work with impunity,” I intervened. “Unless it is a conspiracy of the entire local populace.”

“On the contrary, Doctor,” Sir Jelbart said, “the coastline is not the easiest place to police.”

“But three vessels, sir… if what you say is correct… that would cause a more careful watch to be kept?”

“No, indeed. That’s the confounded point of the matter. The stories of the specter have scared off local people. Imagine, sir, tales of this siren, this seductress dancing naked on a rock whose sides are so sheer that no one could land on it, let alone find a shelf on which to balance. And the size of her… they say the figure is at least twelve feet tall. No one in those parts will venture even to the shore after dark, not even Mr. Neal, our minister. He now goes around warning people to stay clear of the area unless they wish to see the enchantress and suffer the fate of Lot’s wife when she turned back to look upon Sodom and Gomorrah.”

“Does he now?” mused Holmes. “You say that your brother is in the Excise? Have you made your views known to him?”

“I have.”

“And what does he say?”

“He does not share them.”

“Why?”

“Because the ships founder and sink. Little wreckage, if any, is swept ashore. He argues that if wreckers are the cause, what happens to their spoils? They go straight to the bottom. There seems nothing to profit from. He believes, therefore, that we can rule wrecking out.”

“It is a sound, logical deduction,” agreed Holmes.

“Nevertheless, the alternative is preposterous. I must believe that the matter has a rational explanation. I refuse to believe that it is a siren luring passing ships onto the rocks. A specter? A ghost? This is why I have come to you, Mr. Holmes. You, I am sure, cannot believe in the supernatural.”

“On the contrary,” Holmes replied seriously. “What is the supernatural but nature which has not yet been explained? Tell me, Sir Jelbart, in what condition was the weather when these ships foundered?”

“The weather?”

“Yes, was it a tempestuous night, was there a sea fog, were high seas running?”

Sir Jelbart shook his head. “On the contrary. The wrecks occurred on fine nights. Good visibility and calm seas. That is why the captains of these doomed vessels took the passage so close to the Tribbens Rocks. In bad weather, a good seaman would have stood out to sea and given his ship plenty of sea room.”

“Has your brother, Captain Trevossow, made an investigation of the area?”

“He intends to do so this very night. That is why I have been encouraged to come to you, for I fear for his life. The Torrington Lass is sailing from Penzance overnight around the coast to St. Ives. She should pass the Tribbens at midnight. My brother intends to be aboard to inspect the rocks as they sail by.”

“Isn’t that dangerous in view of what has transpired to the previous ships?” I asked.

“It will be a clear night tonight with calm weather,” he replied. “In normal circumstances, there should be no danger. However…” He ended with an eloquent shrug.

“Surely, your brother is a practical man,” Holmes said, “and would be prepared for any unusual occurrence?”

“He is not the skipper and crew,” pointed out Sir Jelbart.

“You have piqued my curiosity, Sir Jelbart,” Holmes said thoughtfully.

Just then Mrs. Chirgwin put her head around the parlor door and announced that the midday meal was ready and she would not be blamed if it was to get cold, gentleman caller or no.

Holmes arose, smiling. “Pray, stay to lunch with us, Sir Jelbart, and, afterward we will accompany you back to this Sennen Cove. We will stay overnight if you can accommodate us. By the way, do you have access to a rowing boat and a competent seaman who would be prepared to row us out to these haunted rocks?”

Sir Jelbart rose and held out his hand. “I do, indeed, sir. I am glad the instinct that brought me hither has been proved a good one.”

The journey from Poldhu Bay around the great stretch of Mounts Bay, through the town of Penzance, along the inhospitable inland road, passing such strange un-English-sounding places as Buryas, Trenuggo, CrowsanWra, Treave, and Carn Towan, before reaching the village of Sennen, was longer than I had expected. We finally arrived at Sir Jelbart’s house of Chy Trevescan in the early evening. It was this journey, through the desolate landscape, with standing stones and ancient crosses that illustrated, for me at least, that Cornwall was, indeed, “the land beyond England.” A strange, ancient place, lost in time.