his part of the country were at one time greatly addicted
to smuggling, and many of their vessels were commanded by daring
fellows, on whose heads a price had been set. Among the most desperate
of these outlaws was Captain Wellard, who commanded the Happy-go-Lucky,
carrying fourteen guns. For years he had carried on his trade with
impunity, and it was said he had vowed that he would never be caught.
When, however, Samuel Pellew, a brother of Lord Exmouth, became
collector of customs at Falmouth, he determined to put a stop to this
illicit traffic. Wellard had the audacity to issue notices, promising a
reward to any one who would kill the collector. Captain Pellew was not
to be daunted, and sent out his cruisers in every direction to look for
the smugglers. At length two of the king's vessels, early one morning,
found the Happy-go-Lucky at anchor, not far from Saint Michael's Mount.
On seeing the royal cruisers, the outlaws cut their cables, and making
sail, stood out to sea. Undaunted by the vastly superior odds against
them, the daring smugglers stood to their guns, and fought with a
bravery worthy of a better cause. For a whole hour--entertaining to the
last the hope of escape--they maintained the unequal contest. They
knew, indeed, that if taken alive, they would to a certainty be hanged.
At last Wellard fell, mortally wounded; but he held out as long as life
lasted. His mate was then killed, and twelve of his crew wounded, when
the survivors were compelled to surrender, and the smuggling craft was
carried in triumph into Falmouth Harbour. Here the prisoners were shut
up in Pendennis Castle; but their friends outside were not idle. A
large body of armed smugglers soon collected, and breaking into the
castle, rescued the imprisoned outlaws, and at the same time carried off
some of the wounded who were lodged in the town. One man was too much
hurt to be moved, so he was left behind, and eventually sent to London,
tried, and--having been captured red-handed--was hanged. This happened
only at the end of the last century.

We walked as far as the curious hollow in the earth called "The Devil's
Frying-pan." It is like a vast crater, two acres in extent, two hundred
feet deep, and converging to an orifice at the bottom, some sixty feet
in diameter. Round the upper edge we observed furze, gorse, and a
variety of grasses growing in great profusion, but below was the bare
rock. Carefully creeping down, we notice