why the church, though tower and
belfry have always been waiting ready for them, has never had a peal of
bells, we must seek instruction from another popular tradition, from a
third legend of these legendary shores. Let us go down a little to the
brink of the cliff, where the sea is rolling into a black, yawning,
perpendicular pit of slate rock. The scene of our third story is the
view over the waters from this place.

In ancient times, when Forrabury Church was still regarded as a building
of recent date, it was a subject of sore vexation to all the people of
the neighbourhood that their tower had no bells, while the inhabitants
of Tintagel still possessed the famous peal that had rung for King
Arthur's funeral. For some years, this superiority of the rival village
was borne with composure by the people of Forrabury; but, in process of
time, they lost all patience, and it was publicly determined by the
rustic council, that the honour of their church should be vindicated.
Money was immediately collected, and bells of magnificent tones and
dimensions were forthwith ordered from the best manufactory that London
could supply.

The bells were cast, blessed by high ecclesiastical authorities, and
shipped for transportation to Forrabury. The voyage was one of the most
prosperous that had ever been known. Fair winds and calm seas so
expedited the passage of the ship, that she appeared in sight of the
downs on which the church stood, many days before she had been expected.
Great was the triumph of the populace on shore, as they watched her
working into the bay with a steady evening breeze.

On board, however, the scene was very different. Here there was more
uproar than happiness, for the captain and the pilot were at open
opposition. As the ship neared the harbour, the bells of Tintagel were
faintly heard across the water, ringing for the evening service. The
pilot, who was a devout man, took off his hat as he heard the sound,
crossed himself, and thanked God aloud for a prosperous voyage. The
captain, who was a reckless, vain-glorious fellow, reviled the pilot as
a fool, and impiously swore that the ship's company had only to thank
his skill as a navigator, and their own strong arms and ready wills, for
bringing the ship safely in sight of harbour. The pilot, in reply,
rebuked him as an infidel, and still piously continued to return thanks
as before; while the captain, joined by the crew, tried to drown his
voice by oaths