Locally it goes by Horn graveyard, a name that suits its promontory position far better than the official placename. What makes it quietly unusual is visible the moment you look down: scattered across the ground are many small set boulders, the kind of modest, uncarved field markers that predate the age of inscribed headstones and speak to burials made without the resources or perhaps the inclination for anything more elaborate.

The eastern half of the graveyard contains a cluster of twentieth-century graves, and these introduce an unexpected decorative note. The headstones and cement crosses here are ornamented with sea shells, a practice that draws on both the materials immediately to hand and a long folk tradition of using shells to mark the dead, associated in Atlantic communities with the idea of the soul's journey. Alongside the graveyard, archaeologists have recorded a midden, the accumulated debris of shellfish, bone, and domestic waste that coastal communities left behind over generations of occupation. Middens are often the most reliable evidence of sustained settlement in areas where stone structures have long since disappeared, and their presence beside a burial ground suggests this headland has been a place of human significance for considerably longer than the modern graves might suggest.