Transcribed by Heather Carbis

from

Legend Land, Volume 2

One of the grimmest yet most fascinating tracts of moorland in the West is that wild, boulder-strewn district behind St. Just in Penwith, near the Land's End. Here, amid a scene of savage beauty, wind-swept by the great gales from the Atlantic, is a stretch of treeless moor the richest in all Cornwall in remains of prehistoric man.

There is something eerie about this furthest west corner of England and around it cluster legends galore. One of the queerest is that of the Hooting Carn, a bleak hill between St. Just and Morvah.

Cam Kenidzhek is its real name, but they are taking now to spelling it as it is pronounced—Carn Kenidjack. From it weird moaning sounds arise at night, and the strangely named Gump, a level track just below the summit, was, they say, the scene of a grim midnight struggle in the very old days.

It happened that one moonless night two miners, walking back to their homes from Morvah, passed by the base of the Hooting Carn. They knew its ill repute and hurried along in silence, their fears not allayed by the fact that on this night the moaning of the Carn was more persistent than usual, and that an unearthly light seemed to illuminate the rocks on its summit. Presently, to their great alarm, there sounded behind them the thunder of galloping hoofs. Turning in fear, they saw a dark-robed figure, with a hood covering his face, approaching. As he dashed past, he signed to them to follow, and, as they explained later, some irresistible force made them obey. Without knowing how they did so, they were able to keep pace with the galloping steed and arrived swiftly near the top of the hill.

There the dark horseman dismounted, and the miners, terrified, found that they had been brought into the midst of a wild company of men of huge size, with long, unkempt hair and beards, their faces daubed with bright colours, and all engaged at the moment in singing a reckless chorus which concluded in an uncanny hooting sound. But the arrival of the dark rider brought the demoniac singing to an end. A circle was quickly formed, and two men, more huge and more terrible than any present, were brought forward to contest in a wrestling match. The horseman, squatting on the ground, gave the signal to begin, but after a few preliminary moves the wrestlers complained that the light was insufficient. Then the squatting demon—for such he proved to be—flashed from his eyes two great beams of fire that lit the whole ring.

The struggle then proceeded, amid the wild yells of the onlookers. At last one of the wrestlers lifted his opponent clear off his feet, and hurled him to the ground with stupendous force. There was a sound like thunder as he fell, and he lay as one dead. At once the whole ring broke into confusion and crowded round the victor. This seemed to the miners grossly unfair play, and they went over to the fallen man to give him what aid they could.

They found him in a terrible state, and, since no aid was available, one of them started to offer up a prayer for the dying man's soul.

With his first words the utmost consternation fell upon the company. A great clap of thunder shook the rocks, a pitchy darkness covered the scene, and a fierce wind swept the hill. Then, looking upward, the miners saw the whole company—the dying man with them—disappearing northward in a dense black cloud, the two blazing eyes of the demon who had led them to the Carn being clearly distinguishable for some time.

Paralysed with fear, the miners remained where they were, until returning daylight broke the evil spell and permitted them to proceed to their homes and explain to their neighbours the secret of the Hooting Carn.

Carn Kenidjack you may reach by a glorious tramp across the moors from St. Just, to which a Great Western motor-coach goes many times daily from Penzance. From the higher ground you will get magnificent coast views, embracing, on a clear day, the distant land of the Scillies.

All about the moor you will find the strange relics of a former race: stone circles, barrows, cromlechs, and prehistoric dwellings mingling with the fern and heather and stunted grass of the hillside, and you breathe in tonic air that has come to you across two thousand miles of ocean.

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