'Ar, there's one or two little groups gettin' an uneasy living out of'n,' replied the landlord. 'But there edn't no future in it.'
'An' there's others wastin' their money fiddlin' about just below the adit level,' put in the old man. 'There's one of'n right here in Botallack. Got control of the old Wheal Garth, 'e 'as. Installed a pump and cleared to about the hundred an' twenty fathom level. Just wastin' 'is money, that's what 'e's doin'. Yet she's a rich mine, the old Wheal Garth. They knacked 'er after the adventurers had had a row — that was back in the depression, in '31 or mebbe 'twas '32. Some o' the adventurers got cold feet. Thort they were spendin' too much on development. They didn't knaw the difference atween prills and dradge most of 'em when the mine was workin' copper. All they knawed was the price copper fetched in the market and the amount of copper that was being brought to the surface. When it came to developing down through bad country for the tin what lay deeper — well, they knacked 'er an' near on two 'undred men were out o' work.'
But I wasn't listening any more. My eyes had been attracted by a headline in the paper that lay on the bar. It read: 'MYSTERY OF ABANDONED REVENUE CUTTER — Crew of four disappear.'
I glanced quickly round the bar. They were all intent upon their argument on the future of Cornish mining. Half fearful that my interest in the story would be noticed, I furtively pulled the paper towards me. The first line produced a sudden leaden sensation in my stomach and I read on, absorbed to the exclusion of all other sounds:
A revenue cutter, which had been sent out to intercept a vessel suspected of smuggling, was found abandoned this morning on a lonely stretch of beach near Marazion. No trace has so far been discovered of the four officials who formed the crew of the cutter and the Customs office at Penzance state that they have received no information regarding the missing men.
Percy Redcliff, a fisherman, of 4 Hillside, Marazion, discovered the vessel beached on the sand at 6 a.m. He immediately reported to the police. Police and Customs officials have examined the boat. They state that the wheel-house and starboard side of the hull are damaged as though by a very heavy sea.
The cutter was seen by several ships during the previous afternoon. The last to sight her was a Naval corvette. The Captain of this vessel reported the cutter about five miles off Newlyn heading south at about six knots through calm seas. Inquiries are now being made concerning the Isle of Mull, a fifty-five ton ketch owned by Mr David Jones. It is believed that this vessel may have sighted the cutter later than the corvette. Until this vessel is located officials are unwilling to make any statement.
It is possible that the cutter came into collision with another vessel last night and was abandoned by her crew. Mr Redcliff, however, pointed out in an interview that when he found the cutter she was quite seaworthy. His opinion was that the crew would have had no justification in abandoning her. Further, he stated that the damage was not, in his opinion, the result of any collision.
The names of the missing men are Frank Riley…
I stopped reading then and looked up. Something said by one of the men in the bar had thrust itself into my mind. The landlord was speaking. 'Ar,' he said. 'Reckon 'e knaws summat.' And then I understood why my interest had been aroused. 'Who — Manack?' asked the old accordion player. 'He's just daft, that's all.'
'Ar, 'e's daft right enough,' put in one of the skittle players, 'Bin queer in the 'ead ever since his wife was killed, poor soul.'
'An' then there was that 'ooman who went mad down there,' put in another.
'Iss,' the landlord said to me, 'walked over the cliff, she did.'
'Tedn't a place I'd go near at night, anyway,' said the skittle player.
'Nor me,' agreed the old man with the accordion. 'I'd be scared o' seeing the death fetch o' one o' they women.' And he chuckled softly to himself.
'I don't care what 'ee say,' put in the landlord, 'I reckon 'ee knaws summat. One way and another 'ee's got control of the whole mine. Bought the other adventurers out for next to nothing, 'I'm thinking.'
'Then why was he one of the ones that wanted to knack her?' asked the skittle player.
The landlord shook his head. 'Dunno,' he said. 'Mebbe it was so as he could get control of the mine.'
In the short silence that followed I leaned across to the landlord and asked, 'Is it Captain Manack you're talking about?'
He gave me a quick glance. 'No. The old man. Captain Manack is his son. Why? Do you know'n?'
'Mebbe,' I said. 'Where's he live?'
And then I got the second surprise that evening, for the landlord turned to me and said, 'Just down the road, at Cripples' Ease.'
'Cripples' Ease,' I echoed.
He laughed. 'Yes,' he said. 'Queer sort o' name, eh? Used to be a pub. That was before my time when everybody round here worked at the Botallack. Then it came into Manack's possession and the licence was allowed to lapse.'
'When was that?' I asked.
'Oh, let me see. Just after the first war it would be. There was some tale that he got it from the woman who kept house for him, the same that went mad an' walked over the cliff. But then, 'cos 'e's reck'ned a bit daft, there's all sorts of stories about him. Can't believe 'alf o' what you're toald in a village laike this.' He grinned. 'Leastways, 'e's the one man that believes there's tin down in Wheal Garth and tryin' to get it. He and 'is son — though what 'is son knows about mining I don't know. They employs a couple o' men down there — furriners, they are, an' we don't see much o' them. Seems they're more like quarry men than miners. About all they do is cut granite slabs for kerb stones and things. Lorries come down from Bristol, sometimes Lunnon even, about once a week.' He shook his head. 'Old Manack'll never do no good with that mine, I'm thinking.'
'Whereabouts is Cripples' Ease?' I asked.
He looked at me sharply. 'Just down the road,' he said vaguely. 'Why?'
I hesitated. Then I said, 'I've come here to see Captain Manack.' I had the feeling he was eyeing me closely.
'Thee don't want to be going down to Cripples' Ease,' put in the old man with the accordion. 'Leastways not this time o' night. T'edn't a very friendly place.' He smiled, showing his gums. He did it without removing the clay pipe. 'It's the old man. Daft, that's what I say 'e is. 'E were all right until his wife had that assident.'
'What happened?' I asked.
'Fell down a mine shaft, she did, poor 'ooman,' he told me. "Tain't difficult. The cliffs is littered with old shafts. They found her at the bottom. Her head was stove in and she had her dog layin' aside of 'er. They say as 'ow she went down after the dog. But there's others thinks different,' he added darkly.
'What was her name?' I asked.
'Er name? What was 'er name, Garge?' he asked the landlord.
'Harriet, if I remember rightly.'
'Ar, that were it — Harriet Manack. She was a widow woman from Penzance. They say it was she brought 'im 'is interest in Wheal Garth.'
'When did this happen?' I asked.
'It'd be nine or ten years ago,' he replied.
'Was he married before?'
The old man shook his head. 'Not to my recollection.' I felt relieved. I didn't want to go digging up the past.
I finished my beer. 'Which road do I take for Manack's place?' I asked the landlord.
'Turn right outside here,' he said. 'About fifty yards on, the road bends sharp right. That's where 'ee turns off to the left. Thee'll find a track. That'll take ee' down to Botallack. Cripples' Ease is by the mine workings. Thee'll not mistake it — 'edn't nothing else down there, 'cept ruins.'
Outside thick darkness shut in the village and thrust back the light that stole out through the open doorway of the inn. The wind had risen and the roar of it swallowed the sound of my footsteps on the roadway. A fork of lightning ripped open the under-belly of the clouds that hung above the coast. In the flash of it the drab stone of the cottages that edged the roadway stood cut sharp and black, as in a woodcut. The thunder cracked, heavy and close, like a giant whip slashed across the heavens, and then died away in a grumbling murmur over the sea.