Bareppa, and sentenced him to carry sacks of
sand across the estuary of the Looe, and to
empty them at Porthleaven, till the beach was
entirely cleared as far as the rocks. Artful St.
Petrock had observed that the sweep of the tide
was from Trewavas Head towards the Lizard,
and that every day's wave would roll back the
tide.  Long did poor Tregeagle labour, but all
in vain; and at last his loud howlings began
to seriously disturb the fishermen of Porthleaven.
A mischievous goblin at last brought them
relief. One night when the giant, laden with an
enormous sack of sand, was wading across the
mouth of the estuary, the goblin, out of pure
malice, tripped up Tregeagle. The sea was
lashed by a storm at the time, and, as the
steward fell, the contents of his sack were
poured out across the arm of the sea, and
formed a bar which at once destroyed the
commerce of Helston (Ellas' town).

Anger and weapons were useless; so, by bell,
book, and candle, the priest again put chains
on the wayward and tormented spirit, and
transported him to the Land's End. His task
this time was more tremendous than ever. He
was condemned to sweep all the sands from
Porthcurnow Cove round the great granite
headland of Tol-Peden Penwith into Nanjisal
Cove. There is one thing against him, and
that is the strong sweep of the Gulf Stream;
but he perseveres. Those sighing sounds,
heard before the sou'-west gales, are said to be
his moanings, when he knows the tempest is
coming, to scatter the sand he has with such
cruel toil collected.

Another version of the great Cornish legend,
an amalgam of many centuries of myths,
represents Tregeagle, when exorcised by the
priest's magic circle, changing into a black
bull, at first furious at the prayers, but
gradually growing quiet as a lamb. He was at
last sent to Genvor Cove, and sentenced to
make trusses of sand and carry them up to
Escol's Cliff. Many winters Tregeagle toiled
at this unsatisfactory business, till he suddenly
thought of bringing water from an adjacent
stream and freezing the sand. This he did,
and finishing his job, went back to the
defendant in the Bodmin trial, and would have
torn him in pieces had he not had a child in his
arms. But over innocent children spirits have
no power. The impracticable Tregeagle was
sentenced to the same task, minus all fresh
water. In one legend Tregeagle is made lord
of a castle which stood by Dozmare Pool, the
Bodmin moors being his hunting forests.
Enchantment has removed the castle, and turned
the oak trees into granite blocks. Near St.
Roche there is a granite pillar twelve feet
high, which is called Tregeagle's staff.
Tregeagle, one night crossing the Daporth hills,
lost his hat, and running to get it, flung away
his staff to lighten him in his search. The
hat, a great disk of granite, remained on a
neighbouring hill till 1798, when some soldiers
camping there, fancying it to be the cause of
the constant rain that tormented them, hurled
it down into the sea.

And now the crow will take a bold flight
seaward, far from the ceaseless mists that float
over the Bodmin moors and the vaporous rains
that beat on the Four-hole Cross, and the
desert heath of Temple Moor, into King
Arthur's country. At Tintagel-by-the-Sea he
was born, and at Slaughter Bridge, close by,
he fell with all his knights beside him. This
Arthur, who owes everything to Alfred—not
King Alfred, but Alfred Tennyson—is divisible
into two parts: the fabulous Arthur and the
semi-fabulous Arthur of semi-fabulous history.
He was probably really a British chief of the
sixth century. He is said to have defeated the
Saxons in twelve battles, at last to have been
wounded to death in a battle at Camelford,
and then to have been conveyed by sea to
Glastonbury, where he died and was buried.
In the romances he is made to conquer Scotland,
Ireland, Iceland, Norway, and Gaul.
Geoffery of Monmouth tells the story of
Arthur from Armorican sources, and a romance
about him was one of the earliest books printed
by Caxton. Leland says that near Camelford,
where Arthur's last battle was fought, pieces of
armour, rings, and brass furniture for horses,
were still sometimes dug up at Slaughter Bridge,
where ages ago

          All day long the noise of battle roll'd
          Among the mountains by the winter sea,
          Until King Arthur's table, man by man,
          Had fallen in Lyonness about their lord.

Across the stream of the Camel in a valley
near Boscastle, not far from the sea, there is a
bridge of flat stones upon uprights. The
tradition is that this stream ran crimson on the
fatal day when Arthur slew Mordred, his
traitorous nephew, at this spot, having
previously, in front of where Worthyvale House
now stands, received a wound from Mordred's
poisoned sword. An engraved stone over the
stream is said to still mark the exact spot. The
Cornish tradition is that Arthur was transformed
into a red-legged chough, and it is
therefore still thought unlucky to kill one of
these birds.

There is a tradition that the Danes once
landed at Genvor Cove. Alarm fires instantly
spread from Carn Brea to St. Agnes beacon,
and from the Great Stone to Cadbarrow, and
from Cadbarrow to Brown Willie. King
Arthur, then at Tintagel, feasting with nine
other kings, instantly marched to the Land's
End, and smote the red-haired Danes so
terribly, that only those escaped who had
charge of the ships. The mill of Vellan
Druchar was that day worked with blood.
The ships, too, were cast on shore, and left
so high among the rocks by an extraordinary
spring tide, that for years the birds built in
the rigging. After the battle, at which Merlin
was present, Arthur and his nine kings pledged
each other in holy water from St. Sennan's
well. They returned thanks for their victory in
St. Sennan's chapel, and finally dined together
on the Table Rock. The old name for the Land's
End was The Headland of Blood, and Bollait,
a place near, is The Field of Slaughter.