Northumberland Yesterday And To Day - Jean F. Terry (i want to read a book TXT) 📗

Life Abroad. Thirty Years Later, On His Return To Take Up Arms On

Behalf Of James' Son Charles--"Bonnie Prince Charlie"--When He Also Drew

The Sword In An Attempt To Regain The Throne Of His Fathers, Radcliffe

Was Captured And Beheaded. (For Account Of A Monument To The Memory Of

These Two Brothers See In Previous Chapter Paragraph Relating To Haydon

Bridge.)

 

The Story Of General Forster's Escape From Newgate Is Told By Sir Walter

Besant, As All Readers Of His Novel, "Dorothy Forster" Know, Though The

Author Has Taken Those Minor Liberties With Unimportant Facts Which Are

By Common Consent Allowable In Fiction.

 

James Radcliffe's Friends Were Allowed To Have His Body, Though They

Were Forbidden To Carry It Home For Burial; For Such Were The Love And

Esteem Borne For The Young Earl In The Hearts Of All His North-Country

Friends And Dependents, That The Authorities Feared A Disturbance Of The

Peace Should His Body Be Brought Amongst Them While Their Rage And Grief

Were Still At Their Height. Notwithstanding The Prohibition, However,

The Body Was Brought Secretly To Dilston, And Buried In The Vault Of The

Chapel, Which, With The Ruined Tower, Are All That Remain Of The Home Of

The Radcliffes. Standing Amidst Luxuriant Foliage, And Overlooking A

Romantic Dell, The Ruins Of Tower And Chapel Remain As They Fell Into

Decay On The Death Of Their Luckless Owners. The Confiscated Estates

Were Bestowed On Greenwich Hospital, Whose Agents Administer Them Still,

With The Exception Of Certain Portions Purchased From Time To Time By

Various Landowners. No Other Family Took The Place Of The Radcliffes In

The Deserted Halls; But Tradition Holds That The Unfortunate Earl And

His Sorrowful Lady Still Revisit Their Ancient Home. The Earl's Body Is

Now At Thorndon, In Essex. Below Is Surtees' Beautiful Ballad, "Lord

Derwentwater's Farewell."

 

 

 

 

  Lord Derwentwater's Farewell

 

  "Farewell To Pleasant Dilston Hall,

  My Father's Ancient Seat;

  A Stranger Now Must Call Thee His,

  Which Gars My Heart To Greet.

  Farewell Each Kindly Well-Known Face

  My Heart Has Held So Dear;

  My Tenants Now Must Leave Their Lord

  Or Hold Their Lives In Fear.

 

  No More Along The Banks Of Tyne

  I'll Rove In Autumn Grey;

  No More I'll Hear, At Early Dawn,

  The Lav'rocks Wake The Day;

  Then Fare Thee Well, Brave Witherington,

  And Forster Ever True;

  Dear Shaftsbury And Errington,

  Receive My Last Adieu.

 

  And Fare Thee Well, George Collingwood,

  Since Fate Has Put Us Down;

  If Thou And I Have Lost Our Lives,

  Our King Has Lost His Crown.

  Farewell, Farewell, My Lady Dear,

  Ill, Ill Thou Counsell'dst Me;

  I Never More May See The Babe

  That Smiles Upon Thy Knee.

 

  And Fare Thee Well, My Bonny Gray Steed,

  That Carried Me Aye So Free;

  I Wish I Had Been Asleep In My Bed

  The Last Time I Mounted Thee;

  The Warning Bell Now Bids Me Cease,

  My Trouble's Nearly O'er;

  Yon Sun That Rises From The Sea

  Shall Rise On Me No More.

 

  Albeit That Here In London Town

  It Is My Fate To Die;

  O Carry Me To Northumberland,

  In My Father's Grave To Lie.

  There Chant My Solemn Requiem

  In Hexham's Holy Towers;

  And Let Six Maids Of Fair Tynedale

  Scatter My Grave With Flowers.

 

  And When The Head That Wears The Crown

  Shall Be Laid Low Like Mine;

  Some Honest Hearts May Then Lament

  For Radcliffe's Fallen Line.

  Farewell To Pleasant Dilston Hall,

  My Father's Ancient Seat;

  A Stranger Now Must Call Thee His,

  Which Gars My Heart To Greet."

 

Near To Corbridge The Waters Of The Tyne Lave The Ancient Piers Of The

Old Roman Bridge Which Led To Corstopitum, The Most Considerable Of The

Roman Stations In This Region. The Recent Careful Excavations Have Laid

Bare The Evidence Of What Must Have Been A Most Imposing City, And Many

Treasures Of Pottery, Coins And Ancient Jewellery And Ornaments,

Together With Large Quantities Of The Bones Of Animals, Some Of Them

Identical With The Wild Cattle Of Chillingham, Have Been Brought To

Light. The Famous Silver Dish Known As The Corbridge Lanx, Which Was

Found At The Riverside By A Little Girl In 1734, Had Evidently Been

Washed Down From Corstopitum. It Is Now Preserved At Alnwick Castle.

The Antiquity Of Corbridge Is Thus Superior To That Of Hexham, As Far As

May Be Known; But On The Other Hand, While Hexham In Saxon Times Grew To

Power, Corbridge Declined. Yet, In Its Time, It Was More Than The Home

Of A Famous Abbey; It Was A Royal City, Albeit The Date Of Its Elevation

To Royal Rank Coincided With The Decline Of The Kingdom Of Which It Was

The Final Capital. When The Fierce And Ruthless Internal Quarrels, Which

Rent Northumbria After Edbert's Glorious Reign, Had Weakened It So That

It Fell A Prey To The Gradual Encroachments Of Its Northern Neighbours,

The Once Royal City Of Bamburgh Was Left In The Hands Of A Noble Saxon

Family, And The Court Was Removed To Corbridge, Which Remained The Abode

Of The Kings Of Northumbria Until Northumbria Possessed Royal Rank No

Longer. The Tale Of The Two Hundred Years During Which Corbridge Was The

Capital City Is A Tale Of Red Slaughter And Ruin, Murder And Bitter

Feud, Not Against Outside Foes, But Between One Family And Another,

Noble Against King, King Against Relatives Of Other Noble Houses,

Amongst Which Might Possibly Be Found The Thegn To Succeed Him, Or To

Murder Him In Order To Bring About His Own More Speedy Elevation To A

Precarious Throne.

 

So Much Was This The Case, That Charles The Great, At Whose Court The

Learned Northumbrian, Alcuin, Was Secretary, Said That The Northumbrians

Were Worse Than The Invading Heathen Danes, Who, By This Time, Had Begun

Their Ravages In The Land. Amongst The Rulers Of Northumbria In Those

Days, The Name Of Alfwald The Just, Who Was Called "The Friend Of God,"

Shines Out With Enduring Light Across The Stormy Darkness Of That

Terrible Period; Yet Even His Just And Merciful Rule And Noble Life

Could Not Save Him From The Hand Of The Assassin. He Was Buried With

Much Mourning And Great Pomp In The Abbey At Hexham; And During The

Recent Excavations The Fact Of A Saxon Interment Was Verified As Having

Taken Place Beneath The Beautiful Tomb Which Tradition Has Always Held

To Be That Of King Alfwald The Just. This Fact Also Helped To

Demonstrate The Extent Of The Original Abbey.

 

There Was A Monastery At Corbridge In The Year 771, Which Is Supposed To

Have Been Founded By St. Wilfrid. Of The Four Churches Which Were

Erected In Later Times, Only One Survives--The Parish Church Of St.

Andrew, Which Occupies The Site Of The Early Monastery. In This Ancient

Church May Be Seen Part Of The Original Saxon Work, And Many Stones Of

Roman Workmanship Are Built Up In The Structure.

 

Like Most Other Old Churches In The North, It Suffered Severely At The

Hands Of The Scots, And, As At Hexham Abbey, Traces Of Fire May Be Seen

On Some Of The Stones.

 

King David Of Scotland, On His Invasion Of England In 1138, Which Was To

End At The "Battle Of The Standard," At Northallerton, Encamped At

Corbridge For A Time, And Terrible Cruelties Were Committed In The

District By His Followers. In The Next Century, King John Turned The

Little Town Upside Down In His Efforts To Find Treasure Which He Was

Convinced Must Be Concealed Somewhere In The Houses; But His Search Was

Fruitless. In The Days Of The Three Edwards, During The Long Wars With

Scotland, Corbridge Suffered Terribly, Being Fired Again And Again; On

One Occasion, In 1296, The Destruction Included The Burning Of The

School With Some Two Hundred Hapless Boys Within Its Walls.[4] [Footnote

4: _See_ Bates, P. 149.]

 

Those Heroes Of Our Childhood's Days, William Wallace And Robert Bruce,

Were Far From Guiltless In These Cruelties, Though In Justice To Them

Personally, The Wild And Lawless Character Of The Men Who Formed Their

Undisciplined Hosts Must Be Remembered; And We Know That Wallace Tried

To Save The Holy Vessels In Hexham Abbey, But, As Soon As His Back Was

Turned, They Were Swept Away In The Very Presence Of The Officiating

Priest.

 

During These Terrible Years Most Of Northumberland Was A Desolate Waste;

And Divine Service Had Almost Ceased To Be Performed Between Newcastle

And Carlisle, Even Hexham Being Deserted For A Time. After The Battle Of

Bannockburn, Matters Were Worse, If Possible, And All The North Lay In

Fear Of The Scots, But From Time To Time Spasmodic Efforts At

Retaliation Were Made By The Boldest Of The Northumbrian Landowners. In

The Reign Of Edward Iii., However, Many Of These Great Landowners

Thwarted The King's Designs By Making A Traitorous Peace With Their

Turbulent Neighbours.

 

David Ii. Of Scotland Encamped At Corbridge For A Time During His Second

Attempt To Invade England But This Expedition Ended In His Defeat And

Capture At Neville's Cross. Thereafter The North Had Rest For Some

Years, And Corbridge Seems To Have Been Left In Peace. The Wars Of The

Roses Passed It By; And The Civil Wars In Stuart Days Also, Except For

An Unimportant Skirmish; And The Only Part Corbridge Saw Of The Jacobite

Rising Of "The Fifteen" Was The Little Cavalcade From Dilston Which

Clattered Over The Old Bridge On Its Way To Beaufront. That Bridge Is

The Same Which We Cross To-Day; The Date Of Its Erection, 1674, May Be

Seen On One Of Its Stones, And It Was The Only One On The Tyne Which

Withstood The Great Flood Of 1771, When Even The Old Tyne Bridge At

Newcastle Was Swept Away.

 

Quite Close To The Church There Is An Old Pele-Tower, Which Is In An

Excellent State Of Preservation, Little Of It Having Disappeared Except

The Various Floors. The Vicars Of Corbridge Must Have Been Often

Thankful For Such A Refuge At Hand, Where They Could Bid Defiance To

Marauding Bands, Whether Of Scottish Or English Nationality. In The

Register Of The Parish Church May Be Seen A Most Interesting Entry,

Showing The Earl Of Derwentwater's Signature As Churchwarden.

 

At A Little Distance From Corbridge, To The Northward, Is The Fortified

Manor-House Of Aydon Castle, Standing Embowered In Trees Where The Cor

Burn Runs Through A Little Rocky Ravine, Down Whose Steep Sides Sir

Robert Clavering Threw Most Of A Marauding Band Of Scotsmen Who Had

Attacked The Grange; The Place Known As "Jock's Leap" Obtained Its Name

From One Of The Scots Who Escaped The Fate Of His Comrades By His Leap

For Life Across The Ravine. The Castle, Or Hall, As It Is Variously

Called, Has Not Suffered Such Destruction As Might Have Been Expected,

Seeing That It Dates From The Thirteenth Century; But The Thickness Of

Its Walls, And The Arrow-Slits And Narrow Windows Are Obvious Proof Of

The Necessity For Defence Which Existed When It Was First Erected In The

Days Of Edward I. Many Features Of Great Interest, Notably The Ancient

Fireplaces, Remain In The Interior Of The Building.

 

Returning Down The Cor Burn To The Tyne, Our Way Lies Eastward By The

Side Of The River, Which Here, After Splashing And Sparkling Over The

Shallows Below Corbridge, Narrows Again To A Deeper Stream Of Swifter

Current, And Flows Between Green Meadows And Leafy Woods, Fern-Clad

Steeps And Level Haughs, All The Way Down To Ryton, Where The

Picturesque Aspect Of The River Ceases, And It Becomes An Industrial

Waterway. On This Reach Of The River Are Several Places Of Considerable

Interest.

 

Riding Mill, A Pretty Village In A Well-Wooded Hollow, Enclosed By Steep

Hills Which Rise Ever Higher And Higher To The Moors By Minsteracres And

Blanchland, Stands Where Watling Street, Or Dere Street, Leading Down

The Long Slope Of The Country From Whittonstall, On Reaching The Tyne

Turned Westward To Corstopitum. Further Down The Stream Is Stocksfield,

Where The Aged King Edward I. Halted On His Last Journey Into Scotland,

On That Expedition Which Was To Have Executed A Summary Vengeance Upon

The Scots; He Journeyed Forward By Slow Stages, But Was Taken Ill At

Newbrough, Where He Stayed For Some Time, Before Continuing His Journey

By Blenkinsopp, Thirlwall, And Lanercost To Carlisle.

 

On The Opposite Side Of The Stream From Stocksfield Is The Lovely

Village Of Bywell, A "Haunt Of Ancient Peace," "Sleeping Soft On The

Banks Of The Murmuring Tyne." This Little Peaceful Spot Was At One Time

A Very Busy Centre Of Life And Industry On A Small Scale; In The Middle

Ages The Inhabitants Drove A Thriving Trade In All The Necessities For A

People Who Spent A Great Part Of Their Lives Upon Horseback, Especially

In The Making Of The Ironwork Required--"Bits, Stirrups, Buckles, And

The Like, Wherein They Are Very Expert And Cunning." The Nevilles, Lords

Of Raby And Earls Of Westmoreland, Held Bywell At This Time; Before That

It