{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_9973/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_9973","id":"gutenberg_9973","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/9973","summary":null,"tags":["Category: History - British","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Travel Writing","United Kingdom","Yorkshire (England) -- Description and travel"],"text":"Produced by Ted Garvin, Michael Lockey and PG Distributed\nProofreaders. Illustrated HTML file produced by David Widger\n\n\n\n\n\nYORKSHIRE\n\nPAINTED AND DESCRIBED BY\n\nGORDON HOME\n\n\n\nContents\n\nCHAPTER I\nACROSS THE MOORS FROM PICKERING TO WHITBY\n\nCHAPTER II\nALONG THE ESK VALLEY\n\nCHAPTER III\nTHE COAST FROM WHITBY TO REDCAR\n\nCHAPTER IV\nTHE COAST FROM WHITBY TO SCARBOROUGH\n\nCHAPTER V\nSCARBOROUGH\n\nCHAPTER VI\nWHITBY\n\nCHAPTER VII\nTHE CLEVELAND HILLS\n\nCHAPTER VIII\nGUISBOROUGH AND THE SKELTON VALLEY\n\nCHAPTER IX\nFROM PICKERING TO RIEVAULX ABBEY\n\nCHAPTER X\nDESCRIBES THE DALE COUNTRY AS A WHOLE\n\nCHAPTER XI\nRICHMOND\n\nCHAPTER XII\nSWALEDALE\n\nCHAPTER XIII\nWENSLEYDALE\n\nCHAPTER XIV\nRIPON AND FOUNTAINS ABBEY\n\nCHAPTER XV\nKNARESBOROUGH AND HARROGATE\n\nCHAPTER XVI\nWHARFEDALE\n\nCHAPTER XVII\nSKIPTON, MALHAM AND GORDALE\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\nSETTLE AND THE INGLETON FELLS\n\nCHAPTER XIX\nCONCERNING THE WOLDS\n\nCHAPTER XX\nFROM FILEY TO SPURN HEAD\n\nCHAPTER XXI\nBEVERLEY\n\nCHAPTER XXII\nALONG THE HUMBER\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\nTHE DERWENT AND THE HOWARDIAN HILLS\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\nA BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF THE CITY OF YORK\n\nCHAPTER XXV\nTHE MANUFACTURING DISTRICT\n\nINDEX\n\n\n\n\nList of Illustrations\n\n1. York from the Central Tower of the Minster\n\n2. Sleights Moor from Swart Houe Cross\n\n3. An Autumn Scene on the Esk\n\n4. Runswick Bay\n\n5. Sunrise from Staithes Beck\n\n6. Robin Hood's Bay\n\n7. Whitby Abbey from the Cliffs\n\n8. The Red Roofs of Whitby\n\n9. An Autumn Day at Guisborough\n\n10. The Skelton Valley\n\n11. In Pickering Church\n\n12. The Market-Place, Helmsley\n\n13. Richmond Castle from the River\n\n14. A Rugged View above Wensleydale\n\n15. A Jacobean House at Askrigg\n\n16. Aysgarth Force\n\n17. View up Wensleydale from Leyburn Shawl\n\n18. Ripon Minster from the South\n\n19. Fountains Abbey\n\n20. Knaresborough\n\n21. Bolton Abbey, Wharfedale\n\n22. Settle\n\n23. Wind and Sunshine on the Wolds\n\n24. Filey Brig\n\n25. The Outermost Point of Flamborough Head\n\n26. Hornsea Mere\n\n27. The Market-Place, Beverley\n\n28. Patrington Church\n\n29. Coxwold Village\n\n30. The West Front of the Church of Byland Abbey\n\n31. Bootham Bar, York\n\n32. Kirkstall Abbey, Leeds\n\n_Sketch Map_\n\n\n\n\n\nYORKSHIRE\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nACROSS THE MOORS FROM PICKERING TO WHITBY\n\n\nThe ancient stone-built town of Pickering is to a great extent the\ngateway to the moors of North-eastern Yorkshire, for it stands at the\nfoot of that formerly inaccessible gorge known as Newton Dale, and is\nthe meeting-place of the four great roads running north, south, east,\nand west, as well as of railways going in the same directions. And this\nview of the little town is by no means original, for the strategic\nimportance of the position was recognised at least as long ago as the\ndays of the early Edwards, when the castle was built to command the\napproach to Newton Dale and to be a menace to the whole of the Vale of\nPickering.\n\nThe old-time traveller from York to Whitby saw practically nothing of\nNewton Dale, for the great coach-road bore him towards the east, and\nthen, on climbing the steep hill up to Lockton Low Moor, he went almost\ndue north as far as Sleights. But to-day everyone passes right through\nthe gloomy canon, for the railway now follows the windings of Pickering\nBeck, and nursemaids and children on their way to the seaside may gaze\nat the frowning cliffs which seventy years ago were only known to\ntravellers and a few shepherds. But although this great change has been\nbrought about by railway enterprise, the gorge is still uninhabited,\nand has lost little of its grandeur; for when the puny train, with its\naccompanying white cloud, has disappeared round one of the great\nbluffs, there is nothing left but the two pairs of shining rails, laid\nfor long distances almost on the floor of the ravine. But though there\nare steep gradients to be climbed, and the engine labours heavily,\nthere is scarcely sufficient time to get any idea of the astonishing\nscenery from the windows of the train, and you can see nothing of the\nhuge expanses of moorland stretching away from the precipices on either\nside. So that we, who would learn something of this region, must make\nthe journey on foot; for a bicycle would be an encumbrance when\ncrossing the heather, and there are many places where a horse would be\na source of danger. The sides of the valley are closely wooded for the\nfirst seven or eight miles north of Pickering, but the surrounding\ncountry gradually loses its cultivation, at first gorse and bracken,\nand then heather, taking the place of the green pastures.\n\nAt the village of Newton, perched on high ground far above the dale, we\ncome to the limit of civilization. The sun is nearly setting. The\ncottages are scattered along the wide roadway and the strip of grass,\nbroken by two large ponds, which just now reflect the pale evening sky.\nStraight in front, across the green, some ancient barns are thrown up\nagainst the golden sunset, and the long perspective of white road, the\ngeese, and some whitewashed gables, stand out from the deepening tones\nof the grass and trees. A footpath by the inn leads through some dewy\nmeadows to the woods, above Levisham Station in the valley below. At\nfirst there are glimpses of the lofty moors on the opposite side of the\ndale where the sides of the bluffs are still glowing in the sunset\nlight; but soon the pathway plunges steeply into a close wood, where\nthe foxes are barking, and where the intense darkness is only\nemphasized by the momentary illumination given by lightning, which now\nand then flickers in the direction of Lockton Moor. At last the\nfriendly little oil-lamps on the platform at Levisham Station appear\njust below, and soon the railway is crossed and we are mounting the\nsteep road on the opposite side of the valley. What is left of the\nwaning light shows the rough track over the heather to High Horcum. The\nhuge shoulders of the moors are now majestically indistinct, and\ntowards the west the browns, purples, and greens are all merged in one\nunfathomable blackness. The tremendous silence and the desolation\nbecome almost oppressive, but overhead the familiar arrangement of the\nconstellations gives a sense of companionship not to be slighted. In\nsomething less than an hour a light glows in the distance, and,\nalthough the darkness is now complete, there is no further need to\ntrouble ourselves with the thought of spending the night on the\nheather. The point of light develops into a lighted window, and we are\nsoon stamping our feet on the hard, smooth road in front of the\nSaltersgate Inn. The door opens straight into a large stone-flagged\nroom. Everything is redolent of coaching days, for the cheery glow of\nthe fire shows a spotlessly clean floor, old high-backed settles, a gun\nhooked to one of the beams overhead, quaint chairs, and oak stools, and\na fox's mask and brush. A gamekeeper is warming himself at the fire,\nfor the evening is chilly, and the firelight falls on his box-cloth\ngaiters and heavy boots as we begin to talk of the loneliness and the\ndangers of the moors, and of the snow-storms in winter, that almost\nbury the low cottages and blot out all but the boldest landmarks. Soon\nwe are discussing the superstitions which still survive among the\nsimple country-folk, and the dark and lonely wilds we have just left\nmake this a subject of great fascination.\n\nAlthough we have heard it before, we hear over again with intense\ninterest the story of the witch who brought constant ill-luck to a\nfamily in these parts. Their pigs were never free from some form of\nillness, their cows died, their horses lamed themselves, and even the\nmilk was so far under the spell that on churning-days the butter\nrefused to come unless helped by a crooked sixpence. One day, when as\nusual they had been churning in vain, instead of resorting to the\nsixpence, the farmer secreted himself in an outbuilding, and, gun in\nhand, watched the garden from a small opening. As it was growing dusk\nhe saw a hare coming cautiously through the hedge. He fired instantly,\nthe hare rolled over, dead, and almost as quickly the butter came. That\nsame night they heard that the old woman, whom they had long suspected\nof bewitching them, had suddenly died at the same time as the hare, and\nhenceforward the farmer and his family prospered.\n\nIn the light of morning the isolation of the inn is more apparent than\nat night. A compact group of stable buildings and barns stands on the\nopposite side of the road, and there are two or three lonely-looking\ncottages, but everywhere else the world is purple and brown with ling\nand heather. The morning sun has just climbed high enough to send a\nflood of light down the steep hill at the back of the barns, and we can\nhear the hum of the bees in the heather. In the direction of Levisham\nis Gallows Dyke, the great purple bluff we passed in the darkness, and\na few yards off the road makes a sharp double bend to get up\nSaltersgate Brow, the hill that overlooks the enormous circular bowl of\nHorcum Hole, where Levisham Beck rises. The farmer whose buildings can\nbe seen down below contrives to paint the bottom of the bowl a bright\ngreen, but the ling comes hungrily down on all sides, with evident\nlongings to absorb the scanty cultivation. The Dwarf Cornel a little\nmountain-plant which flowers in July, is found in this 'hole.' A few\npatches have been discovered in the locality, but elsewhere it is not\nknown south of the Cheviots.\n\nAway to the north the road crosses the desolate country like a\npale-green ribbon. It passes over Lockton High Moor, climbs to 700 feet\nat Tom Cross Rigg and then disappears into the valley of Eller Beck, on\nGoathland Moor, coming into view again as it climbs steadily up to\nSleights Moor, nearly 1,000 feet above the sea. An enormous stretch of\nmoorland spreads itself out towards the west. Near at hand is the\nprecipitous gorge of Upper Newton Dale, backed by Pickering Moor, and\nbeyond are the heights of Northdale Rigg and Rosedale Common, with the\nblue outlines of Ralph Cross and Danby Head right on the horizon.\n\nThe smooth, well-built road, with short grass filling the crevices\nbetween the stones, urges us to follow its straight course northwards;\nbut the sternest and most remarkable portion of Upper Newton Dale lies\nto the left, across the deep heather, and we are tempted aside to reach\nthe lip of the sinuous gorge nearly a mile away to the west, where the\nrailway runs along the marshy and boulder-strewn bottom of a natural\ncutting 500 feet deep. The cliffs drop down quite perpendicularly for\n200 feet, and the remaining distance to the bed of the stream is a\nrough slope, quite bare in places, and in others densely grown over\nwith trees; but on every side the fortress-like scarps are as stern and\nbare as any that face the ocean. Looking north or south the gorge seems\ncompletely shut in. There is much the same effect when steaming through\nthe Kyles of Bute, for there the ship seems to be going full speed for\nthe shore of an entirely enclosed sea, and here, saving for the\ntell-tale railway, there seems no way out of the abyss without scaling\nthe perpendicular walls. The rocks are at their finest at Killingnoble\nScar, where they take the form of a semicircle on the west side of the\nrailway. The scar was for a very long period famous for the breed of\nhawks, which were specially watched by the Goathland men for the use of\nJames I., and the hawks were not displaced from their eyrie even by the\nincursion of the railway into the glen, and only recently became\nextinct.\n\nWe can cross the line near Eller Beck, and, going over Goathland Moor,\nexplore the wooded sides of Wheeldale Beck and its water-falls.\nMallyan's Spout is the most imposing, having a drop of about 76 feet.\nThe village of Goathland has thrown out skirmishers towards the heather\nin the form of an ancient-looking but quite modern church, with a low\ncentral tower, and a little hotel, stone-built and fitting well into\nits surroundings. The rest of the village is scattered round a large\ntriangular green, and extends down to the railway, where there is a\nstation named after the village.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nALONG THE ESK VALLEY\n\n\nTo see the valley of the Esk in its richest garb, one must wait for a\nspell of fine autumn weather, when a prolonged ramble can be made along\nthe riverside and up on the moorland heights above. For the dense\nwoodlands, which are often merely pretty in midsummer, become\nastonishingly lovely as the foliage draping the steep hill-sides takes\non its gorgeous colours, and the gills and becks on the moors send down\na plentiful supply of water to fill the dales with the music of rushing\nstreams.\n\nClimbing up the road towards Larpool, we take a last look at quaint old\nWhitby, spread out before us almost like those wonderful old prints of\nEnglish towns they loved to publish in the eighteenth century. But\nalthough every feature is plainly visible--the church, the abbey, the\ntwo piers, the harbour, the old town and the new--the detail is all\nlost in that soft mellowness of a sunny autumn day. We find an\nenthusiastic photographer expending plates on this familiar view, which\nis sold all over the town; but we do not dare to suggest that the\nprints, however successful, will be painfully hackneyed, and we go on\nrejoicing that the questions of stops and exposures need not trouble\nus, for the world is ablaze with colour.\n\nBeyond the great red viaduct, whose central piers are washed by the\nriver far below, the road plunges into the golden shade of the woods\nnear Cock Mill, and then comes out by the river's bank down below, with\nthe little village of Ruswarp on the opposite shore. The railway goes\nover the Esk just below the dam, and does is very best to spoil every\nview of the great mill built in 1752 by Mr. Nathaniel Cholmley.\n\nThe road follows close beside the winding river and all the way to\nSleights there are lovely glimpses of the shimmering waters, reflecting\nthe overhanging masses of foliage. The golden yellow of a bush growing\nat the water's edge will be backed by masses of brown woods that here\nand there have retained suggestions of green, contrasted with the deep\npurple tones of their shadowy recesses. These lovely phases of Eskdale\nscenery are denied to the summer visitor, but there are few who would\nwish to have the riverside solitudes rudely broken into by the passing\nof boatloads of holiday-makers. Just before reaching Sleights Bridge we\nleave the tree-embowered road, and, going through a gate, find a\nstone-flagged pathway that climbs up the side of the valley with great\ndeliberation, so that we are soon at a great height, with a magnificent\nsweep of landscape towards the south-west, and the keen air blowing\nfreshly from the great table-land of Egton High Moor.\n\nA little higher, and we are on the road in Aislaby village. The steep\nclimb from the river and railway has kept off those modern influences\nwhich have made Sleights and Grosmont architecturally depressing, and\nthus we find a simple village on the edge of the heather, with\npicturesque stone cottages and pretty gardens, free from companionship\nwith the painfully ugly modern stone house, with its thin slate roof.\nThe big house of the village stands on the very edge of the descent,\nsurrounded by high trees now swept bare of leaves.\n\nThe first time I visited Aislaby I reached the little hamlet when it\nwas nearly dark. Sufficient light, however, remained in the west to\nshow up the large house standing in the midst of the swaying branches.\nOne dim light appeared in the blue-grey mass, and the dead leaves were\nblown fiercely by the strong gusts of wind. On the other side of the\nroad stood an old grey house, whose appearance that gloomy evening well\nsupported the statement that it was haunted.\n\nI left the village in the gathering gloom and was soon out on the\nheather. Away on the left, but scarcely discernible, was Swart Houe\nCross, on Egton Low Moor, and straight in front lay the Skelder Inn. A\nlight gleamed from one of the lower windows, and by it I guided my\nsteps, being determined to partake of tea before turning my steps\nhomeward. I stepped into the little parlour, with its sanded floor, and\ndemanded 'fat rascals' and tea. The girl was not surprised at my\nrequest, for the hot turf cakes supplied at the inn are known to all\nthe neighbourhood by this unusual name.\n\nThe course of the river itself is hidden by the shoulders of Egton Low\nMoor beneath us, but faint sounds of the shunting of trucks are carried\nup to the heights. Even when the deep valleys are warmest, and when\ntheir atmosphere is most suggestive of a hot-house, these moorland\nheights rejoice in a keen, dry air, which seems to drive away the\nslightest sense of fatigue, so easily felt on the lower levels, and to\ngive in its place a vigour that laughs at distance. Up here, too, the\nwhole world seems left to Nature, the levels of cultivation being\nalmost out of sight, and anything under 800 feet seems low. Towards the\nend of August the heights are capped with purple, although the distant\nmoors, however brilliant they may appear when close at hand, generally\nassume more delicate shades, fading into greys and blues on the\nhorizon.\n\nGrosmont was the birthplace of the Cleveland Ironworks, and was at one\ntime more famous than Middlesbrough. The first cargo of ironstone was\nsent from here in 1836, when the Pickering and Whitby Railway was\nopened.\n\nWe will go up the steep road to the top of Sleights Moor. It is a long\nstiff climb of nearly 900 feet, but the view is one of the very finest\nin this country, where wide expanses soon become commonplace. We are\nsufficiently high to look right across Fylingdales Moor to the sea\nbeyond, a soft haze of pearly blue over the hard, rugged outline of the\nling. Away towards the north, too, the landscape for many miles is\nlimited only by the same horizon of sea, so that we seem to be looking\nat a section of a very large-scale contour map of England. Below us on\nthe western side runs the Mirk Esk, draining the heights upon which we\nstand as well as Egton High Moor and Wheeldale Moor. The confluence\nwith the Esk at Grosmont is lost in a haze of smoke and a confusion of\nroofs and railway lines; and the course of the larger river in the\ndirection of Glaisdale is also hidden behind the steep slopes of Egton\nHigh Moor. Towards the south we gaze over a vast desolation, crossed by\nthe coach-road to York as it rises and falls over the swells of the\nheather. The queer isolated cone of Blakey Topping and the summit of\nGallows Dyke, close to Saltersgate, appear above the distant ridges.\n\nThe route of the great Roman road from the south to Whitby can also be\nseen from these heights. It passes straight through Cawthorn Camp, on\nthe ridge to the west of the village of Newton, and then runs along\nwithin a few yards of the by-road from Pickering to Egton. It crosses\nWheeldale Beck, and skirts the ancient dyke round July or Julian Park,\nat one time a hunting-seat of the great De Mauley family. The road is\nabout 12 feet wide, and is now deep in heather; but it is slightly\nraised above the general level of the ground, and can therefore be\nfollowed fairly easily where it has not been taken up to build walls\nfor enclosures.\n\nIf we go down into the valley beneath us by a road bearing south-west,\nwe shall find ourselves at Beck Hole, where there is a pretty group of\nstone cottages, backed by some tall firs. The Eller Beck is crossed by\na stone bridge close to its confluence with the Mirk Esk. Above the\nbridge, a footpath among the huge boulders winds its way by the side of\nthe rushing beck to Thomasin Foss, where the little river falls in two\nor three broad silver bands into a considerable pool. Great masses of\noverhanging rock, shaded by a leafy roof, shut in the brimming waters.\n\nIt is not difficult to find the way from Beck Hole to the Roman camp on\nthe hill-side towards Egton Bridge. The Roman road from Cawthorn goes\nright through it, but beyond this it is not easy to trace, although\nfragments have been discovered as far as Aislaby, all pointing to\nWhitby or Sandsend Bay. Round the shoulder of the hill we come down\nagain to the deeply-wooded valley of the Esk. And in time we reach\nGlaisdale End, where a graceful stone bridge of a single arch stands\nover the rushing stream. The initials of the builder and the date\nappear on the eastern side of what is now known as the Beggar's Bridge.\nIt was formerly called Firris Bridge, after the builder, but the\npopular interest in the story of its origin seems to have killed the\nold name. If you ask anyone in Whitby to mention some of the sights of\nthe neighbourhood, he will probably head his list with the Beggar's\nBridge, but why this is so I cannot imagine. The woods are very\nbeautiful, but this is a country full of the loveliest dales, and the\npresence of this single-arched bridge does not seem sufficient to have\nattracted so much popularity. I can only attribute it to the love\ninterest associated with the beggar. He was, we may imagine, the\nAlderman Thomas Firris who, as a penniless youth, came to bid farewell\nto his betrothed, who lived somewhere on the opposite side of the\nriver. Finding the stream impassable, he is said to have determined\nthat if he came back from his travels as a rich man he would put up a\nbridge on the spot he had been prevented from crossing.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nTHE COAST FROM WHITBY TO REDCAR\n\n\nAlong the three miles of sand running northwards from Whitby at the\nfoot of low alluvial cliffs, I have seen some of the finest\nsea-pictures on this part of the coast. But although I have seen\nbeautiful effects at all times of the day, those that I remember more\nthan any others are the early mornings, when the sun was still low in\nthe heavens, when, standing on that fine stretch of yellow sand, one\nseemed to breathe an atmosphere so pure, and to gaze at a sky so\ntransparent, that some of those undefined longings for surroundings\nthat have never been realized were instinctively uppermost in the mind.\nIt is, I imagine, that vague recognition of perfection which has its\neffect on even superficial minds when impressed with beautiful scenery,\nfor to what other cause can be attributed the remark one hears, that\nsuch scenes 'make one feel good'?\n\nHeavy waves, overlapping one another in their fruitless bombardment of\nthe smooth shelving sand, are filling the air with a ceaseless thunder.\nThe sun, shining from a sky of burnished gold, throws into silhouette\nthe twin lighthouses at the entrance to Whitby Harbour, and turns the\nfoaming wave-tops into a dazzling white, accentuated by the long\nshadows of early day. Away to the north-west is Sandsend Ness, a bold\nheadland full of purple and blue shadows, and straight out to sea,\nacross the white-capped waves, are two tramp steamers, making, no\ndoubt, for South Shields or some port where a cargo of coal can be\npicked up. They are plunging heavily, and every moment their bows seem\nto go down too far to recover.\n\nThe two little becks finding their outlet at East Row and Sandsend are\nlovely to-day; but their beauty must have been much more apparent\nbefore the North-Eastern Railway put their black lattice girder bridges\nacross the mouth of each valley. But now that familiarity with these\nbridges, which are of the same pattern across every wooded ravine up\nthe coast-line to Redcar, has blunted my impressions, I can think of\nthe picturesqueness of East Row without remembering the railway. It was\nin this glen, where Lord Normanby's lovely woods make a background for\nthe pretty tiled cottages, the mill, and the old stone bridge, which\nmake up East Row,[1] that the Saxons chose a home for their god Thor.\nHere they built some rude form of temple, afterwards, it seems,\nconverted into a hermitage. This was how the spot obtained the name\nThordisa, a name it retained down to 1620, when the requirements of\nworkmen from the newly-started alum-works at Sandsend led to building\noperations by the side of the stream. The cottages which arose became\nknown afterwards as East Row.\n\n[Footnote 1: Since this was written one or two new houses have been\nallowed to mar the simplicity of the valley.--G.H.]\n\nGo where you will in Yorkshire, you will find no more fascinating\nwoodland scenery than that of the gorges of Mulgrave. From the broken\nwalls and towers of the old Norman castle the views over the ravines on\neither hand--for the castle stands on a lofty promontory in a sea of\nfoliage--are entrancing; and after seeing the astoundingly brilliant\ncolours with which autumn paints these trees, there is a tendency to\nfind the ordinary woodland commonplace. The narrowest and deepest gorge\nis hundreds of feet deep in the shale. East Row Beck drops into this\ncanon in the form of a water-fall at the upper end, and then almost\ndisappears among the enormous rocks strewn along its circumscribed\ncourse. The humid, hot-house atmosphere down here encourages the growth\nof many of the rarer mosses, which entirely cover all but the\nnewly-fallen rocks.\n\nWe can leave the woods by a path leading near Lord Normanby's modern\ncastle, and come out on to the road close to Lythe Church, where a\ngreat view of sea and land is spread out towards the south. The long\ncurving line of white marks the limits of the tide as far as the\nentrance to Whitby Harbour. The abbey stands out in its loneliness as\nof yore, and beyond it are the black-looking, precipitous cliffs ending\nat Saltwick Nab. Lythe Church, standing in its wind-swept graveyard\nfull of blackened tombstones, need not keep us, for, although its\nmuch-modernized exterior is simple and ancient-looking, the interior is\ndevoid of any interest.\n\nThe walk along the rocky shore to Kettleness is dangerous unless the\ntide is carefully watched, and the road inland through Lythe village is\nnot particularly interesting, so that one is tempted to use the\nrailway, which cuts right through the intervening high ground by means\nof two tunnels. The first one is a mile long, and somewhere near the\ncentre has a passage out to the cliffs, so that even if both ends of\nthe tunnel collapsed there would be a way of escape. But this is small\ncomfort when travelling from Kettleness, for the down gradient towards\nSandsend is very steep, and in the darkness of the tunnel the train\ngets up a tremendous speed, bursting into the open just where a\nprecipitous drop into the sea could be most easily accomplished.\n\nThe station at Kettleness is on the top of the huge cliffs, and to\nreach the shore one must climb down a zigzag path. It is a broad and\nsolid pathway until half-way down, where it assumes the character of a\ngoat-track, being a mere treading down of the loose shale of which the\nenormous cliff is formed. The sliding down of the crumbling rock\nconstantly carries away the path, but a little spade-work soon makes\nthe track firm again. This portion of the cliff has something of a\nhistory, for one night in 1829 the inhabitants of many of the cottages\noriginally forming the village of Kettleness were warned of impending\ndanger by subterranean noises. Fearing a subsidence of the cliff, they\nbetook themselves to a small schooner lying in the bay. This wise move\nhad not long been accomplished, when a huge section of the ground\noccupied by the cottages slid down the great cliff and the next morning\nthere was little to be seen but a sloping mound of lias shale at the\nfoot of the precipice. The villagers recovered some of their property\nby digging, and some pieces of broken crockery from one of the cottages\nare still to be seen on the shore near the ferryman's hut, where the\npath joins the shore.\n\nThis sandy beach, lapped by the blue waves of Runswick Bay, is one of\nthe finest and most spectacular spots to be found on the rocky\ncoast-line of Yorkshire. You look northwards across the sunlit sea to\nthe rocky heights hiding Port Mulgrave and Staithes, and on the further\nside of the bay you see tiny Runswick's red roofs, one above the other,\non the face of the cliff. Here it is always cool and pleasant in the\nhottest weather, and from the broad shadows cast by the precipices\nabove one can revel in the sunny land- and sea-scapes without that fishy\nodour so unavoidable in the villages. When the sun is beginning to\nclimb down the sky in the direction of Hinderwell, and everything is\nbathed in a glorious golden light, the ferryman will row you across the\nbay to Runswick, but a scramble over the rocks on the beach will be\nrepaid by a closer view of the now half-filled-up Hob Hole. The\nfisherfolk believed this cave to be the home of a kindly-disposed fairy\nor hob, who seems to have been one of the slow-dying inhabitants of the\nworld of mythology implicitly believed in by the Saxons. And these\nbeliefs died so hard in these lonely Yorkshire villages that until\nrecent times a mother would carry her child suffering from\nwhooping-cough along the beach to the mouth of the cave. There she would\ncall in a loud voice, 'Hob-hole Hob! my bairn's getten t'kink cough.\nTak't off, tak't off.'\n\nThe same form of disaster which destroyed Kettleness village caused the\ncomplete ruin of Runswick in 1666, for one night, when some of the\nfisherfolk were holding a wake over a corpse, they had unmistakable\nwarnings of an approaching landslip. The alarm was given, and the\nvillagers, hurriedly leaving their cottages, saw the whole place slide\ndownwards, and become a mass of ruins. No lives were lost, but, as only\none house remained standing, the poor fishermen were only saved from\ndestitution by the sums of money collected for their relief.\n\nScarcely two miles from Hinderwell is the fishing-hamlet of Staithes,\nwedged into the side of a deep and exceedingly picturesque beck.\n\nThe steep road leading past the station drops down into the village,\ngiving a glimpse of the beck crossed by its ramshackle wooden\nfoot-bridge--the view one has been prepared for by guide-books and\npicture postcards. Lower down you enter the village street. Here the\nsmell of fish comes out to greet you, and one would forgive the place\nthis overflowing welcome if one were not so shocked at the dismal\naspect of the houses on either side of the way. Many are of\ncomparatively recent origin, others are quite new, and a few--a very\nfew--are old; but none have any architectural pretensions or any claims\nto picturesqueness, and only a few have the neat and respectable look\none is accustomed to expect after seeing Robin Hood's Bay.\n\nI hurried down on to the little fish-wharf--a wooden structure facing\nthe sea--hoping to find something more cheering in the view of the\nlittle bay, with its bold cliffs, and the busy scene where the cobbles\nwere drawn up on the shingle. Here my spirits revived, and I began to\nfind excuses for the painters. The little wharf, in a bad state of\nrepair, like most things in the place, was occupied by groups of\nstalwart fisherfolk, men and women.\n\nThe men were for the most part watching their womenfolk at work. They\nwere also to an astonishing extent mere spectators in the arduous work\nof hauling the cobbles one by one on to the steep bank of shingle. A\ntackle hooked to one of the baulks of timber forming the staith was\nbeing hauled at by five women and two men! Two others were in a\nlistless fashion leaning their shoulders against the boat itself. With\nthe last 'Heave-ho!' at the shortened tackle the women laid hold of the\nnets, and with casual male assistance laid them out on the shingle,\nremoved any fragments of fish, and generally prepared them for stowing\nin the boat again.\n\nA change has come over the inhabitants of Staithes since 1846, when Mr.\nOrd describes the fishermen as 'exceedingly civil and courteous to\nstrangers, and altogether free from that low, grasping knavery peculiar\nto the larger class of fishing-towns.' Without wishing to be\nunreasonably hard on Staithes, I am inclined to believe that this\ncharacter is infinitely better than these folk deserve, and even when\nMr. Ord wrote of the place I have reason to doubt the civility shown by\nthem to strangers. It is, according to some who have known Staithes for\na long long while, less than fifty years ago that the fisherfolk were\nhostile to a stranger on very small provocation, and only the entirely\ninoffensive could expect to sojourn in the village without being a\ntarget for stones.\n\nNo doubt many of the superstitions of Staithes people have languished\nor died out in recent years, and among these may be included a\nparticularly primitive custom when the catches of fish had been\nunusually small. Bad luck of this sort could only be the work of some\nevil influence, and to break the spell a sheep's heart had to be\nprocured, into which many pins were stuck. The heart was then burnt in\na bonfire on the beach, in the presence of the fishermen, who danced\nround the flames.\n\nIn happy contrast to these heathenish practices was the resolution\nentered into and signed by the fishermen of Staithes, in August, 1835,\nbinding themselves 'on no account whatever' to follow their calling on\nSundays, 'nor to go out without boats or cobbles to sea, either on the\nSaturday or Sunday evenings.' They also agreed to forfeit ten shillings\nfor every offence against the resolution, and the fund accumulated in\nthis way, and by other means, was administered for the benefit of aged\ncouples and widows and orphans.\n\nThe men of Staithes are known up and down the east coast of Great\nBritain as some of the very finest types of fishermen. Their cobbles,\nwhich vary in size and colour, are uniform in design and the brilliance\nof their paint. Brick red, emerald green, pungent blue and white, are\nthe most favoured colours, but orange, pink, yellow, and many others,\nare to be seen.\n\nLooking northwards there is a grand piece of coast scenery. The masses\nof Boulby Cliffs, rising 660 feet from the sea, are the highest on the\nYorkshire coast. The waves break all round the rocky scaur, and fill\nthe air with their thunder, while the strong wind blows the spray into\nbeards which stream backwards from the incoming crests.\n\nThe upper course of Staithes Beck consists of two streams, flowing\nthrough deep, richly-wooded ravines. They follow parallel courses very\nclose to one another for three or four miles, but their sources extend\nfrom Lealholm Moor to Wapley Moor. Kilton Beck runs through another\nlovely valley densely clothed in trees, and full of the richest\nwoodland scenery. It becomes more open in the neighbourhood of Loftus,\nand from thence to the sea at Skinningrove the valley is green and open\nto the heavens. Loftus is on the borders of the Cleveland mining\ndistrict, and it is for this reason that the town has grown to a\nconsiderable size. But although the miners' new cottages are\nunpicturesque, and the church only dates from 1811, the situation is\npretty, owing to the profusion of trees among the houses, has\nrailway-sidings and branch-lines running down to it, and on the hill\nabove the cottages stands a cluster of blast-furnaces. In daylight they\nare merely ugly, but at night, with tongues of flame, they speak of the\npotency of labour. I can still see that strange silhouette of steel\ncylinders and connecting girders against a blue-black sky, with silent\nmasses of flame leaping into the heavens.\n\nIt was long before iron-ore was smelted here, before even the old\nalum-works had been started, that Skinningrove attained to some sort of\nfame through a wonderful visit, as strange as any of those recounted by\nMr. Wells. It was in the year 1535--for the event is most carefully\nrecorded in a manuscript of the period--that some fishermen of\nSkinningrove caught a Sea Man. This was such an astounding fact to\nrecord that the writer of the old manuscript explains that 'old men\nthat would be loath to have their credyt crackt by a tale of a stale\ndate, report confidently that ... a _sea-man_ was taken by the\nfishers.' They took him up to an old disused house, and kept him there\nfor many weeks, feeding him on raw fish, because he persistently\nrefused the other sorts of food offered him. To the people who flocked\nfrom far and near to visit him he was very courteous, and he seems to\nhave been particularly pleased with any 'fayre maydes' who visited him,\nfor he would gaze at them with a very earnest countenance, 'as if his\nphlegmaticke breaste had been touched with a sparke of love.'\n\nThe lofty coast-line we have followed all the way from Sandsend\nterminates abruptly at Huntcliff Nab, the great promontory which is\nfamiliar to visitors to Saltburn. Low alluvial cliffs take the place of\nthe rocky precipices, and the coast becomes flatter and flatter as you\napproach Redcar and the marshy country at the mouth of the Tees. The\noriginal Saltburn, consisting of a row of quaint fishermen's cottages,\nstill stands entirely alone, facing the sea on the Huntcliff side of\nthe beck, and from the wide, smooth sands there is little of modern\nSaltburn to be seen besides the pier. For the rectangular streets and\nblocks of houses have been wisely placed some distance from the edge of\nthe grassy cliffs, leaving the sea-front quite unspoiled.\n\nThe elaborately-laid-out gardens on the steep banks of Skelton Beck are\nthe pride and joy of Saltburn, for they offer a pleasant contrast to\nthe bare slopes on the Huntcliff side and the flat country towards\nKirkleatham. But in this seemingly harmless retreat there used to be\nheard horrible groanings, and I have no evidence to satisfy me that\nthey have altogether ceased. For in this matter-of-fact age such a\nstory would not be listened to, and thus those who hear the sounds may\nbe afraid to speak of them. The groanings were heard, they say, 'when\nall wyndes are whiste and the rea restes unmoved as a standing poole.'\nAt times they were so loud as to be heard at least six miles inland,\nand the fishermen feared to put out to sea, believing that the ocean\nwas 'as a greedy Beaste raginge for Hunger, desyers to be satisfyed\nwith men's carcases.'\n\nIn 1842 Redcar was a mere village, though more apparent on the map than\nSaltburn; but, like its neighbour, it has grown into a great\nwatering-place, having developed two piers, a long esplanade, and other\nfeatures, which I am glad to leave to those for whom they were made,\nand betake myself to the more romantic spots so plentiful in this broad\ncounty.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTHE COAST FROM WHITBY TO SCARBOROUGH\n\n\nAlthough it is only six miles as the crow flies from Whitby to Robin\nHood's Bay, the exertion required to walk there along the top of the\ncliffs is equal to quite double that distance, for there are so many\ngullies to be climbed into and crawled out of that the measured\ndistance is considerably increased. It is well to remember this, for\notherwise the scenery of the last mile or two may not seem as fine as\nthe first stages.\n\nAs soon as the abbey and the jet-sellers are left behind, you pass a\nfarm, and come out on a great expanse of close-growing smooth turf,\nwhere the whole world seems to be made up of grass and sky. The\nfootpath goes close to the edge of the cliff; in some places it has\ngone too close, and has disappeared altogether. But these diversions\ncan be avoided without spoiling the magnificent glimpses of the\nrock-strewn beach nearly 200 feet below. From above Saltwick Bay there\nis a grand view across the level grass to Whitby Abbey, standing out\nalone on the green horizon. Down below, Nab runs out a bare black arm\ninto the sea, which even in the calmest weather angrily foams along the\nwindward side. Beyond the sturdy lighthouse that shows itself a\ndazzling white against the hot blue of the heavens commence the\ninnumerable gullies. Each one has its trickling stream, and bushes and\nlow trees grow to the limits of the shelter afforded by the ravines;\nbut in the open there is nothing higher than the waving corn or the\nstone walls dividing the pastures--a silent testimony to the power of\nthe north-east wind.\n\nAfter rounding the North Cheek, the whole of Robin Hood's Bay is\nsuddenly laid before you. I well remember my first view of the wide\nsweep of sea, which lay like a blue carpet edged with white, and the\nhigh escarpments of rock that were in deep purple shade, except where\nthe afternoon sun turned them into the brightest greens and umbers.\nThree miles away, but seemingly very much closer, was the bold headland\nof the Peak, and more inland was Stoupe Brow, with Robin Hood's Butts\non the hill-top. The fable connected with the outlaw is scarcely worth\nrepeating, but on the site of these butts urns have been dug up, and\nare now to be found in Scarborough Museum. The Bay Town is hidden away\nin a most astonishing fashion, for, until you have almost reached the\ntwo bastions which guard the way up from the beach, there is nothing to\nbe seen of the charming old place. If you approach by the road past the\nrailway station it is the same, for only garishly new hotels and villas\nare to be seen on the high ground, and not a vestige of the\nfishing-town can be discovered. But the road to the bay at last begins\nto drop down very steeply, and the first old roofs appear. The oath at\nthe side of the road develops into a very lone series of steps, and in\na few minutes the narrow street flanked by very tall houses, has\nswallowed you up.\n\nEverything is very clean and orderly, and, although most of the houses\nare very old, they are generally in a good state of repair, exhibiting\nin every case the seaman's love of fresh paint. Thus, the dark and worn\nstone walls have bright eyes in their newly-painted doors and windows.\nOver their door-steps the fishermen's wives are quite fastidious, and\nyou seldom see a mark on the ochre-coloured hearth-stone with which the\nwomen love to brighten the worn stones. Even the scrapers are sleek\nwith blacklead, and it is not easy to find a window without spotless\ncurtains. At high tide the sea comes half-way up the steep opening\nbetween the coastguards' quarters and the inn which is built on another\nbastion, and in rough weather the waves break hungrily on to the strong\nstone walls, for the bay is entirely open to the full force of gales\nfrom the east or north-east. All the way from Scarborough to Whitby the\ncoast offers no shelter of any sort in heavy weather, and many vessels\nhave been lost on the rocks. On one occasion a small sailing-ship was\ndriven right into this bay at high tide, and the bowsprit smashed into\na window of the little hotel that occupied the place of the present\none.\n\nThe railway southwards takes a curve inland, and, after winding in and\nout to make the best of the contour of the hills, the train finally\nsteams very heavily and slowly into Ravenscar Station, right over the\nPeak and 630 feet above the sea. On the way you get glimpses of the\nmoors inland, and grand views over the curving bay. There is a station\nnamed Fyling Hall, after Sir Hugh Cholmley's old house, half-way to\nRavenscar.\n\nRaven Hall, the large house conspicuously perched on the heights above\nthe Peak, is now converted into an hotel. There is a wonderful view\nfrom the castellated terraces, which in the distance suggest the\nremains of some ruined fortress. At the present time there is nothing\nto be seen older than the house whose foundations were dug in 1774.\nWhile the building operations were in progress, however, a Roman\ninscribed stone, now in Whitby Museum, was unearthed. It states that\nthe 'Castrum' was built by two prefects whose names are given. This was\none of the fortified signal stations built in the 4th century A.D. to\ngive warning of the approach of hostile ships.\n\nFollowing this lofty coast southwards, you reach Hayburn Wyke, where a\nstream drops perpendicularly over some square masses of rock.\n\nThere is a small stone circle not far from Hayburn Wyke Station, to be\nfound without much trouble, and those who are interested in Early Man\nwill scarcely find a neighbourhood in this country more thickly\nhoney-combed with tumuli and ancient earth-works. There is no\nparticularly plain pathway through the fields to the valley where this\nstone circle can be seen, but it can easily be found after a careful\nstudy of the large-scale Ordnance Map which they will show you at the\nhotel.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nSCARBOROUGH\n\n\nDazzling sunshine, a furious wind, flapping and screaming gulls, crowds\nof fishing-boats, and innumerable people jostling one another on the\nsea-front, made up the chief features of my first view of Scarborough.\nBy degrees I discovered that behind the gulls and the brown sails were\nold houses, their roofs dimly red through the transparent haze, and\nabove them appeared a great green cliff, with its uneven outline\ndefined by the curtain walls and towers of the castle which had made\nScarborough a place of importance in the Civil War and in earlier\ntimes.\n\nThe wide-curving bay was filled with huge breaking waves which looked\ncapable of destroying everything within their reach, but they seemed\nharmless enough when I looked a little further out, where eight or ten\ngrey war-ships were riding at their anchors, apparently motionless.\n\nFrom the outer arm of the harbour, where the seas were angrily\nattempting to dislodge the top row of stones, I could make out the\ngreat mass of grey buildings stretching right to the extremity of the\nbay.\n\nI tried to pick out individual buildings from this city-like\nwatering-place, but, beyond discovering the position of the Spa and one\nor two of the mightier hotels, I could see very little, and instead\nfell to wondering how many landladies and how many foreign waiters the\nlong lines of grey roofs represented. This raised so many unpleasant\nrecollections of the various types I had encountered that I determined\nto go no nearer to modern Scarborough than the pier-head upon which I\nstood. A specially big wave, however, soon drove me from this position\nto a drier if more crowded spot, and, reconsidering my objections, I\ndetermined to see something of the innumerable grey streets which make\nup the fashionable watering-place. The terraced gardens on the steep\ncliffs along the sea-front were most elaborately well kept, but a more\nstriking feature of Scarborough is the magnificence of so many of the\nshops. They suggest a city rather than a seaside town, and give you an\nidea of the magnitude of the permanent population of the place as well\nas the flood of summer and winter visitors. The origin of Scarborough's\npopularity was undoubtedly due to the chalybeate waters of the Spa,\ndiscovered in 1620, almost at the same time as those of Tunbridge Wells\nand Epsom.\n\nThe unmistakable signs of antiquity in the narrow streets adjoining the\nharbour irresistibly remind one of the days when sea-bathing had still\nto be popularized, when the efficacy of Scarborough's medicinal spring\nhad not been discovered, of the days when the place bore as little\nresemblance to its present size or appearance as the fishing-town at\nRobin Hood's Bay.\n\nWe do not know that Piers Gaveston, Sir Hugh Cholmley, and other\nnotabilities who have left their mark on the pages of Scarborough's\nhistory, might not, were they with us to-day, welcome the pierrot, the\nswitchback, the restaurant, and other means by which pleasure-loving\nvisitors wile away their hardly-earned holidays; but for my part the\nstory of Scarborough's Mayor who was tossed in a blanket is far more\nentertaining than the songs of nigger minstrels or any of the\ncommercial attempts to amuse.\n\nThis strangely improper procedure with one who held the highest office\nin the municipality took place in the reign of James II., and the\nKing's leanings towards Popery were the cause of all the trouble.\n\nOn April 27, 1688, a declaration for liberty of conscience was\npublished, and by royal command the said declaration was to be read in\nevery Protestant church in the land. Mr. Thomas Aislabie, the Mayor of\nScarborough, duly received a copy of the document, and, having handed\nit to the clergyman, Mr. Noel Boteler, ordered him to read it in church\non the following Sunday morning. There seems little doubt that the\nworthy Mr. Boteler at once recognized a wily move on the part of the\nKing, who under the cover of general tolerance would foster the growth\nof the Roman religion until such time as the Catholics had attained\nsufficient power to suppress Protestantism. Mr. Mayor was therefore\ninformed that the declaration would not be read. On Sunday morning\n(August 11) when the omission had been made, the Mayor left his pew,\nand, stick in hand, walked up the aisle, seized the minister, and caned\nhim as he stood at his reading-desk. Scenes of such a nature did not\noccur every day even in 1688, and the storm of indignation and\nexcitement among the members of the congregation did not subside so\nquickly as it had risen.\n\nThe cause of the poor minister was championed in particular by a\ncertain Captain Ouseley, and the discussion of the matter on the\nbowling-green on the following day led to the suggestion that the Mayor\nshould be sent for to explain his conduct. As he took no notice of a\ncourteous message requesting his attendance, the Captain repeated the\nsummons accompanied by a file of musketeers. In the meantime many\nsuggestions for dealing with Mr. Aislabie in a fitting manner were\ndoubtless made by the Captain's brother officers, and, further, some\nsettled course of action seems to have been agreed upon, for we do not\nhear of any hesitation on the part of the Captain on the arrival of the\nMayor, whose rage must by this time have been bordering upon apoplexy.\nA strong blanket was ready, and Captains Carvil, Fitzherbert, Hanmer,\nand Rodney, led by Captain Ouseley and assisted by as many others as\ncould find room, seizing the sides, in a very few moments Mr. Mayor was\nrevolving and bumping, rising and falling, as though he were no weight\nat all.\n\nIf the castle does not show many interesting buildings beyond the keep\nand the long line of walls and drumtowers, there is so much concerning\nit that is of great human interest that I should scarcely feel able to\ngrumble if there were still fewer remains. Behind the ancient houses in\nQuay Street rises the steep, grassy cliff, up which one must climb by\nvarious rough pathways to the fortified summit. On the side facing the\nmainland, a hollow, known as the Dyke, is bridged by a tall and narrow\narchway, in place of the drawbridge of the seventeenth century and\nearlier times. On the same side is a massive barbican, looking across\nan open space to St. Mary's Church, which suffered so severely during\nthe sieges of the castle. The maimed church--for the chancel has never\nbeen rebuilt--is close to the Dyke and the shattered keep, and so\napparent are the results of the cannonading between them that no one\nrequires to be told that the Parliamentary forces mounted their\nordnance in the chancel and tower of the church, and it is equally\nobvious that the Royalists returned the fire hotly.\n\nThe great siege lasted for nearly a year, and although his garrison was\nsmall, and there was practically no hope of relief, Sir Hugh Cholmley\nseems to have kept a stout heart up to the end. With him throughout\nthis long period of privation and suffering was his beautiful and\ncourageous wife, whose comparatively early death, at the age of\nfifty-four, must to some extent be attributed to the strain and fatigue\nborne during these months of warfare. Sir Hugh seems to have almost\nworshipped his wife, for in his memoirs he is never weary of describing\nher perfections.\n\n'She was of the middle stature of women,' he writes, 'and well shaped,\nyet in that not so singular as in the beauty of her face, which was but\nof a little model, and yet proportionable to her body; her eyes black\nand full of loveliness and sweetness, her eyebrows small and even, as\nif drawn with a pencil, a very little, pretty, well-shaped mouth, which\nsometimes (especially when in a muse or study) she would draw up into\nan incredible little compass; her hair a sad chestnut; her complexion\nbrown, but clear, with a fresh colour in her cheeks, a loveliness in\nher looks inexpressible; and by her whole composure was so beautiful a\nsweet creature at her marriage as not many did parallel, few exceed\nher, in the nation; yet the inward endowments and perfections of her\nmind did exceed those outward of her body, being a most pious virtuous\nperson, of great integrity and discerning judgment in most things.'\n\nOn one occasion during the siege Sir John Meldrum, the Parliamentary\ncommander, sent proposals to Sir Hugh Cholmley, which he accompanied\nwith savage threats, that if his terms were not immediately accepted he\nwould make a general assault on the castle that night, and in the event\nof one drop of his men's blood being shed he would give orders for a\ngeneral massacre of the garrison, sparing neither man nor woman.\n\nTo a man whose devotion to his beautiful wife was so great, a threat of\nthis nature must have been a severe shock to his determination to hold\nout. But from his own writings we are able to picture for ourselves Sir\nHugh's anxious and troubled face lighting up on the approach of the\ncause of his chief concern. Lady Cholmley, without any sign of the\ninward misgivings or dejection which, with her gentle and shrinking\nnature, must have been a great struggle, came to her husband, and\nimplored him to on no account let her peril influence his decision to\nthe detriment of his own honour or the King's affairs.\n\nSir John Meldrum's proposals having been rejected, the garrison\nprepared itself for the furious attack commenced on May 11.\n\nThe assault was well planned, for while the Governor's attention was\nturned towards the gateway leading to the castle entrance, another\nattack was made at the southern end of the wall towards the sea, where\nuntil the year 1730 Charles's Tower stood. The bloodshed at this point\nwas greater than at the gateway. At the head of a chosen division of\ntroops, Sir John Meldrum climbed the almost precipitous ascent with\nwonderful courage, only to meet with such spirited resistance on the\npart of the besieged that, when the attack was abandoned, it was\ndiscovered that Meldrum had received a dangerous wound penetrating to\nhis thigh, and that several of his officers and men had been killed.\nMeanwhile, at the gateway, the first success of the assailants had been\nchecked at the foot of the Grand Tower or Keep, for at that point the\nrush of drab-coated and helmeted men was received by such a shower of\nstones and missiles that many stumbled and were crushed on the steep\npathway. Not even Cromwell's men could continue to face such a\nreception, and before very long the Governor could embrace his wife in\nthe knowledge that the great attack had failed.\n\nAt last, on July 22, 1645--his forty-fifth birthday--Sir Hugh was\nforced to come to an agreement with the enemy, by which he honourably\nsurrendered the castle three days later. It was a sad procession that\nwound its way down the steep pathway, littered with the debris of\nbroken masonry: for many of Sir Hugh's officers and soldiers were in\nsuch a weak condition that they had to be carried out in sheets or\nhelped along between two men, and the Parliamentary officer adds rather\ntersely, that 'the rest were not very fit to march.' The scurvy had\ndepleted the ranks of the defenders to such an extent that the women in\nthe castle, despite the presence of Lady Cholmley, threatened to stone\nthe Governor unless he capitulated.\n\nThree years later the castle was again besieged by the Parliamentary\nforces, for Colonel Matthew Boynton, the Governor, had declared for the\nKing. The garrison held out from August to December, when terms were\nmade with Colonel Hugh Bethell, by which the Governor, officers,\ngentlemen, and soldiers, marched out with 'their colours flying, drums\nbeating, musquets loaden, bandeleers filled, matches lighted, and\nbullet in mouth, to a close called Scarborough Common,' where they laid\ndown their arms.\n\nBefore I leave Scarborough I must go back to early times, in order that\nthe antiquity of the place may not be slighted owing to the omission of\nany reference to the town in the Domesday Book. Tosti, Count of\nNorthumberland, who, as everyone knows, was brother of the Harold who\nfought at Senlac Hill, had brought about an insurrection of the\nNorthumbrians, and having been dispossessed by his brother, he revenged\nhimself by inviting the help of Haralld Hadrada, King of Norway. The\nNorseman promptly accepted the offer, and, taking with him his family\nand an army of warriors, sailed for the Shetlands, where Tosti joined\nhim. The united forces then came down the east coast of Britain until\nthey reached Scardaburgum, where they landed and prepared to fight the\ninhabitants. The town was then built entirely of timber, and there was,\napparently, no castle of any description on the great hill, for the\nNorsemen, finding their opponents inclined to offer a stout resistance,\ntried other tactics. They gained possession of the hill, constructed a\nhuge fire, and when the wood was burning fiercely, flung the blazing\nbrands down on to the wooden houses below. The fire spread from one hut\nto another with sufficient speed to drive out the defenders, who in the\nconfusion which followed were slaughtered by the enemy.\n\nThis occurred in the momentous year 1066, when Harold, having defeated\nthe Norsemen and slain Haralld Hadrada at Stamford Bridge, had to hurry\nsouthwards to meet William the Norman at Hastings. It is not\nsurprising, therefore, that the compilers of the Conqueror's survey\nshould have failed to record the existence of the blackened embers of\nwhat had once been a town. But such a site as the castle hill could not\nlong remain idle in the stormy days of the Norman Kings, and William le\nGros, Earl of Albemarle and Lord of Holderness, recognising the natural\ndefensibility of the rock, built the massive walls which have withstood\nso many assaults, and even now form the most prominent feature of\nScarborough.\n\nUntil 1923 there was no knowledge of there having been any Roman\noccupation of the promontory upon which the castle stands. Excavations\nmade in that year have shown that a massively-built watch tower was\nmaintained there during the last phase of Roman control in Britain.\nThis was one of a chain of signal or lookout stations placed along the\nYorkshire coast when the threat of raiders from the mouths of the\nGerman rivers had become serious.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nWHITBY\n\n\n  Behold the glorious summer sea\n    As night's dark wings unfold,\n  And o'er the waters, 'neath the stars,\n    The harbour lights behold.\n\n_E. Teschemacher_.\n\nDespite a huge influx of summer visitors, and despite the modern town\nwhich has grown up to receive them, Whitby is still one of the most\nstrikingly picturesque towns in England. But at the same time, if one\nexcepts the abbey, the church, and the market-house, there are scarcely\nany architectural attractions in the town. The charm of the place does\nnot lie so much in detail as in broad effects. The narrow streets have\nno surprises in the way of carved-oak brackets or curious panelled\ndoorways, although narrow passages and steep flights of stone steps\nabound. On the other hand, the old parts of the town, when seen from a\ndistance, are always presenting themselves in new apparel.\n\nIn the early morning the East Cliff generally appears as a pale grey\nsilhouette with a square projection representing the church, and a\nfretted one the abbey.\n\nBut as the sun climbs upwards, colour and definition grow out of the\nhaze of smoke and shadows, and the roofs assume their ruddy tones. At\nmidday, when the sunlight pours down upon the medley of houses\nclustered along the face of the cliff, the scene is brilliantly\ncoloured. The predominant note is the red of the chimneys and roofs and\nstray patches of brickwork, but the walls that go down to the water's\nedge are green below and full of rich browns above, and in many places\nthe sides of the cottages are coloured with an ochre wash, while above\nthem all the top of the cliff appears covered with grass. There is\nscarcely a chimney in this old part of Whitby that does not contribute\nto the mist of blue-grey smoke that slowly drifts up the face of the\ncliff, and thus, when there is no bright sunshine, colour and details\nare subdued in the haze.\n\nIn many towns whose antiquity and picturesqueness are more popular than\nthe attractions of Whitby, the railway deposits one in some\ndistressingly ugly modern excrescence, from which it may even be\nnecessary for a stranger to ask his way to the old-world features he\nhas come to see. But at Whitby the railway, without doing any harm to\nthe appearance of the town, at once gives a visitor as typical a scene\nof fishing-life as he will ever find. When the tide is up and the\nwharves are crowded with boats, this upper portion of Whitby Harbour is\nat its best, and to step from the railway compartment entered at King's\nCross into this picturesque scene is an experience to be remembered.\n\nIn the deepening twilight of a clear evening the harbour gathers to\nitself the additional charm of mysterious indefiniteness, and among the\nlong-drawn-out reflections appear sinuous lines of yellow light beneath\nthe lamps by the bridge. Looking towards the ocean from the outer\nharbour, one sees the massive arms which Whitby has thrust into the\nwaves, holding aloft the steady lights that\n\n  'Safely guide the mighty ships\n     Into the harbour bay.'\n\nIf we keep to the waterside, modern Whitby has no terrors for us. It is\nout of sight, and might therefore have never existed. But when we have\ncrossed the bridge, and passed along the narrow thoroughfare known as\nChurch Street to the steps leading up the face of the cliff, we must\nprepare ourselves for a new aspect of the town. There, upon the top of\nthe West Cliff, stand rows of sad-looking and dun-coloured\nlodging-houses, relieved by the aggressive bulk of a huge hotel, with\ncorner turrets, that frowns savagely at the unfinished crescent, where\nthere are many apartments with 'rooms facing the sea.'\n\nTurning landwards we look over the chimney stacks of the topmost\nhouses, and see the silver Esk winding placidly in the deep channel it\nhas carved for itself; and further away we see the far off moorland\nheights, brown and blue, where the sources of the broad river down\nbelow are fed by the united efforts of innumerable tiny streams deep in\nthe heather. Behind us stands the massive-looking parish church, with\nits Norman tower, so sturdily built that its height seems scarcely\ngreater than its breadth. There is surely no other church with such a\nponderous exterior that is so completely deceptive as to its internal\naspect, for St. Mary's contains the most remarkable series of\nbeehive-like galleries that were ever crammed into a parish church.\nThey are not merely very wide and ill-arranged, but they are superposed\none abode the other. The free use of white paint all over the sloping\ntiers of pews has prevented the interior from being as dark as it would\nhave otherwise been, but the result of all this painted deal has been\nto give the building the most eccentric and indecorous appearance.\n\nThe early history of Whitby from the time of the landing of Roman\nsoldiers in the inlet seems to be very closely associated with the\nabbey founded by Hilda about two years after the battle of Winwidfield,\nfought on November 15, A.D. 654; but I will not venture to state an\nopinion here as to whether there was any town at Streoneshalh before\nthe building of the abbey, or whether the place that has since become\nknown as Whitby grew on account of the presence of the abbey. Such\nmatters as these have been fought out by an expert in the archaeology\nof Cleveland--the late Canon Atkinson, who seemed to take infinite\npleasure in demolishing the elaborately constructed theories of those\npainstaking historians of the eighteenth century, Dr. Young and Mr.\nLionel Charlton.\n\nMany facts, however, which throw light on the early days of the abbey\nare now unassailable. We see that Hilda must have been a most\nremarkable woman for her times, instilling into those around her a\npassion for learning as well as right-living, for despite the fact that\nthey worked and prayed in rude wooden buildings, with walls formed,\nmost probably, of split tree-trunks, after the fashion of the church at\nGreenstead in Essex, we find the institution producing, among others,\nsuch men as Bosa and John, both Archbishops of York, and such a poet as\nCaedmon. The legend of his inspiration, however, may be placed beside\nthe story of how the saintly Abbess turned the snakes into the fossil\nammonites with which the liassic shores of Whitby are strewn. Hilda,\nwho probably died in the year 680, was succeeded by Aelfleda, the\ndaughter of King Oswiu of Northumbria, whom she had trained in the\nabbey, and there seems little doubt that her pupil carried on\nsuccessfully the beneficent work of the foundress.\n\nAelfleda had the support of her mother's presence as well as the wise\ncounsels of Bishop Trumwine, who had taken refuge at Streoneshalh,\nafter having been driven from his own sphere of work by the\ndepredations of the Picts and Scots. We then learn that Aelfleda died\nat the age of fifty-nine, but from that year--probably 713--a complete\nsilence falls upon the work of the abbey; for if any records were made\nduring the next century and a half, they have been totally lost. About\nthe year 867 the Danes reached this part of Yorkshire, and we know that\nthey laid waste the abbey, and most probably the town also; but the\ninvaders gradually started new settlements, or 'bys,' and Whitby must\ncertainly have grown into a place of some size by the time of Edward\nthe Confessor, for just previous to the Norman invasion it was assessed\nfor Danegeld to the extent of a sum equivalent to L3,500 at the present\ntime.\n\nAfter the Conquest a monk named Reinfrid succeeded in reviving a\nmonastery on the site of the old one, having probably gained the\npermission of William de Percy, the lord of the district. The new\nestablishment, however, was for monks only, and was for some time\nmerely a priory.\n\nThe form of the successive buildings from the time of Hilda until the\nbuilding of the stately abbey church, whose ruins are now to be seen,\nis a subject of great interest, but, unfortunately, there are few facts\nto go upon. The very first church was, as I have already suggested, a\nbuilding of rude construction, scarcely better than the humble\ndwellings of the monks and nuns. The timber walls were most probably\nthatched, and the windows would be of small lattice or boards pierced\nwith small holes. Gradually the improvements brought about would have\nled to the use of stone for the walls, and the buildings destroyed by\nthe Danes may have resembled such examples of Anglo-Saxon work as may\nstill be seen in the churches of Bradford-on-Avon and Monkwearmouth.\n\nThe buildings erected by Reinfrid under the Norman influence then\nprevailing in England must have been a slight advance upon the\ndestroyed fabric, and we know that during the time of his successor,\nSerlo de Percy, there was a certain Godfrey in charge of the building\noperations, and there is every reason to believe that he completed the\nchurch during the fifty years of prosperity the monastery passed\nthrough at that time. But this was not the structure which survived,\nfor towards the end of Stephen's reign, or during that of Henry II.,\nthe unfortunate convent was devastated by the King of Norway, who\nentered the harbour, and, in the words of the chronicle, 'laid waste\neverything, both within doors and without.' The abbey slowly recovered\nfrom this disaster, and the reconstruction commenced in 1220, still\nmakes a conspicuous landmark from the sea. It was after the Dissolution\nthat the abbey buildings came into the hands of Sir Richard Cholmley,\nwho paid over to Henry VIII. the sum of L333 8s. 4d. The manors of\nEskdaleside and Ugglebarnby, with all 'their rights, members and\nappurtenances as they formerly had belonged to the abbey of Whiby,'\nhenceforward belonged to Sir Richard and his successors.\n\nSir Hugh Cholmley, whose defence of Scarborough Castle has made him a\nname in history, was born on July 22, 1600, at Roxby, near Pickering.\nHe has been justly called 'the father of Whitby,' and it is to him we\nowe a fascinating account of his life at Whitby in Stuart and Jacobean\ntimes. He describes how he lived for some time in the gate-house of the\nabbey buildings, 'till my house was repaired and habitable, which then\nwas very ruinous and all unhandsome, the wall being only of timber and\nplaster, and ill-contrived within: and besides the repairs, or rather\nre-edifying the house, I built the stable and barn, I heightened the\noutwalls of the court double to what they were, and made all the wall\nround about the paddock; so that the place hath been improved very\nmuch, both for beauty and profit, by me more than all my ancestors, for\nthere was not a tree about the house but was set in my time, and almost\nby my own hand.'\n\nIn the spring of 1636 the reconstruction of the abbey house was\nfinished, and Sir Hugh moved in with his family. 'My dear wife,' he\nsays '(who was excellent at dressing and making all handsome within\ndoors), had put it into a fine posture, and furnished with many good\nthings, so that, I believe, there were few gentlemen in the country, of\nmy rank, exceeded it.... I was at this time made Deputy-lieutenant and\nColonel over the Train-bands within the hundred of Whitby Strand,\nRuedale, Pickering, Lythe and Scarborough town; for that, my father\nbeing dead, the country looked upon me as the chief of my family.'\n\n'I had between thirty and forty in my ordinary family, a chaplain who\nsaid prayers every morning at six, and again before dinner and supper,\na porter who merely attended the gates, which were ever shut up before\ndinner, when the bell rung to prayers, and not opened till one o'clock,\nexcept for some strangers who came to dinner, which was ever fit to\nreceive three or four besides my family, without any trouble; and\nwhatever their fare was, they were sure to have a hearty welcome. As a\ndefinite result of his efforts, 'all that part of the pier to the west\nend of the harbour' was erected, and yet he complains that, though it\nwas the means of preserving a large section of the town from the sea,\nthe townsfolk would not interest themselves in the repairs necessitated\nby force of the waves. 'I wish, with all my heart,' he exclaims, 'the\nnext generation may have more public spirit.'\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE CLEVELAND HILLS\n\n\nOn their northern and western flanks the Cleveland Hills have a most\nimposing and mountainous aspect, although their greatest altitudes do\nnot aspire to more than about 1,500 feet. But they rise so suddenly to\ntheir full height out of the flat sea of green country that they often\nappear as a coast defended by a bold range of mountains. Roseberry\nTopping stands out in grim isolation, on its masses of alum rock, like\na huge sea-worn crag, considerably over 1,000 feet high. But this\nstrangely menacing peak raises his defiant head over nothing but broad\nmeadows, arable land, and woodlands, and his only warfare is with the\nlower strata of storm-clouds, which is a convenient thing for the\npeople who live in these parts; for long ago they used the peak as a\nsign of approaching storms, having reduced the warning to the\neasily-remembered couplet:\n\n  'When Roseberry Topping wears a cap,\n  Let Cleveland then beware of a clap.'\n\nFrom the fact that you can see this remarkable peak from almost every\npoint of the compass except south-westwards, it must follow that from\nthe top of the hill there are views in all those directions. But to see\nso much of the country at once comes as a surprise to everyone.\nStretching inland towards the backbone of England, there is spread out\na huge tract of smiling country, covered with a most complex network of\nhedges, which gradually melt away into the indefinite blue edge of the\nworld where the hills of Wensleydale rise from the plain. Looking\nacross the little town of Guisborough, lying near the shelter of the\nhills, to the broad sweep of the North Sea, this piece of Yorkshire\nseems so small that one almost expects to see the Cheviots away in the\nnorth. But, beyond the winding Tees and the drifting smoke of the great\nmanufacturing towns on its banks, one must be content with the county\nof Durham, a huge section of which is plainly visible. Turning towards\nthe brown moorlands, the cultivation is exchanged for ridge beyond\nridge of total desolation--a huge tract of land in this crowded England\nwhere the population for many square miles at a time consists of the\ninmates of a lonely farm or two in the circumscribed cultivated areas\nof the dales.\n\nEight or nine hundred years ago these valleys were choked up with\nforests. The Early British inhabitants were more inclined to the\nhill-tops than the hollows, if the innumerable indications of their\nsettlements be any guide, and there is every reason for believing that\nmany of the hollows in the folds of the heathery moorlands were rarely\nvisited by man. Thus, the suggestion has been made that a few of the\nlast representatives of now extinct monsters may have survived in these\nwild retreats, for how otherwise do we find persistent stories in these\nparts of Yorkshire, handed down we cannot tell how many centuries, of\nstrange creatures described as 'worms'? At Loftus they show you the\nspot where a 'grisly worm' had its lair, and in many places there are\ntraditions of strange long-bodied dragons who were slain by various\nvaliant men.\n\nOn Easby Moor, a few miles to the south of Roseberry Topping, the tall\ncolumn to the memory of Captain Cook stands like a lighthouse on this\ninland coastline. The lofty position it occupies among these brown and\npurply-green heights makes the monument visible over a great tract of\nthe sailor's native Cleveland. The people who live in Marton, the\nvillage of his birthplace, can see the memorial of their hero's fame,\nand the country lads of to-day are constantly reminded of the success\nwhich attended the industry and perseverance of a humble Marton boy.\n\nThe cottage where James Cook was born in 1728 has gone, but the field\nin which it stood is called Cook's Garth. The shop at Staithes,\ngenerally spoken of as a 'huckster's,' where Cook was apprenticed as a\nboy, has also disappeared; but, unfortunately, that unpleasant story of\nhis having taken a shilling from his master's till, when the\nattractions of the sea proved too much for him to resist, persistently\nclings to all accounts of his early life. There seems no evidence to\nconvict him of this theft, but there are equally no facts by which to\nclear him. But if we put into the balance his subsequent term of\nemployment at Whitby, the excellent character he gained when he went to\nsea, and Professor J.K. Laughton's statement that he left Staithes\n'after some disagreement with his master,' there seems every reason to\nbelieve that the story is untrue.\n\nI have seldom seen a more uninhabited and inhospitable-looking country\nthan the broad extent of purple hills that stretch away to the\nsouth-west from Great Ayton and Kildale Moors. Walking from Guisborough\nto Kildale on a wild and stormy afternoon in October, I was totally\nalone for the whole distance when I had left behind me the baker's boy\nwho was on his way to Hutton with a heavy basket of bread and cakes.\nHutton, which is somewhat of a model village for the retainers attached\nto Hutton Hall, stands in a lovely hollow at the edge of the moors. The\nsteep hills are richly clothed with sombre woods, and the peace and\nseclusion reigning there is in marked contrast to the bleak wastes\nabove. When I climbed the steep road on that autumn afternoon, and,\npassing the zone of tall, withered bracken, reached the open moorland,\nI seemed to have come out merely to be the plaything of the elements;\nfor the south-westerly gale, when it chose to do so, blew so fiercely\nthat it was difficult to make any progress at all. Overhead was a dark\nroof composed of heavy masses of cloud, forming long parallel lines of\ngrey right to the horizon. On each side of the rough, water-worn road\nthe heather made a low wall, two or three feet high, and stretched\nright away to the horizon in every direction. In the lulls, between the\nfierce blasts, I could hear the trickle of the water in the rivulets\ndeep down in the springy cushion of heather. A few nimble sheep would\nstare at me from a distance, and then disappear, or some grouse might\nhover over a piece of rising ground; but otherwise there were no signs\nof living creatures. Nearing Kildale, the road suddenly plunged\ndownwards to a stream flowing through a green, cultivated valley, with\na lonely farm on the further slope. There was a fir-wood above this,\nand as I passed over the hill, among the tall, bare stems, the clouds\nparted a little in the west, and let a flood of golden light into the\nwood. Instantly the gloom seemed to disappear, and beyond the dark\nshoulder of moorland, where the Cook monument appeared against the\nglory of the sunset, there seemed to reign an all-pervading peace, the\nwood being quite silent, for the wind had dropped.\n\nThe rough track through the trees descended hurriedly, and soon gave a\nwide view over Kildale. The valley was full of colour from the glowing\nwest, and the steep hillsides opposite appeared lighter than the indigo\nclouds above, now slightly tinged with purple. The little village of\nKildale nestled down below, its church half buried in yellow foliage.\n\nThe ruined Danby Castle can still be seen on the slope above the Esk,\nbut the ancient Bow Bridge at Castleton, which was built at the end of\nthe twelfth century, was barbarously and needlessly destroyed in 1873.\nA picture of the bridge has, fortunately, been preserved in Canon\nAtkinson's 'Forty Years in a Moorland Parish.' That book has been so\nwidely read that it seems scarcely necessary to refer to it here, but\nwithout the help of the Vicar, who knew every inch of his wild parish,\nthe Danby district must seem much less interesting.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nGUISBOROUGH AND THE SKELTON VALLEY\n\n\nAlthough a mere fragment of the Augustinian Priory of Guisborough is\nstanding to-day, it is sufficiently imposing to convey a powerful\nimpression of the former size and magnificence of the monastic church.\nThis fragment is the gracefully buttressed east-end of the choir, which\nrises from the level meadow-land to the east of the town. The stonework\nis now of a greenish-grey tone, but in the shadows there is generally a\nlook of blue. Beyond the ruin and through the opening of the great east\nwindow, now bare of tracery, you see the purple moors, with the\never-formidable Roseberry Topping holding its head above the green\nwoods and pastures.\n\nThe destruction of the priory took place most probably during the reign\nof Henry VIII., but there are no recorded facts to give the date of the\nspoiling of the stately buildings. The materials were probably sold to\nthe highest bidder, for in the town of Guisborough there are scattered\nmany fragments of richly-carved stone, and Ord, one of the historians\nof Cleveland, says: 'I have beheld with sorrow, and shame, and\nindignation, the richly ornamented columns and carved architraves of\nGod's temple supporting the thatch of a pig-house.'\n\nThe Norman priory church, founded in 1119, by the wealthy Robert de\nBrus of Skelton, was, unfortunately, burnt down on May 16, 1289. Walter\nof Hemingburgh, a canon of Guisborough, has written a quaintly detailed\naccount of the origin of the fire. Translated from the monkish Latin,\nhe says 'On the first day of rogation-week, a devouring flame consumed\nour church of Gysburn, with many theological books and nine costly\nchalices, as well as vestments and sumptuous images; and because past\nevents are serviceable as a guide to future inquiries, I have thought\nit desirable, in the present little treatise, to give an account of the\ncatastrophe, that accidents of a similar nature may be avoided through\nthis calamity allotted to us. On the day above mentioned, which was\nvery destructive to us, a vile plumber, with his two workmen, burnt our\nchurch whilst soldering up two holes in the old lead with fresh pewter.\nFor some days he had already, with a wicked disposition, commenced, and\nplaced his iron crucibles, along with charcoal and fire, on rubbish, or\nsteps of a great height, upon dry wood with some turf and other\ncombustibles. About noon (in the cross, in the body of the church,\nwhere he remained at his work until after Mass) he descended before the\nprocession of the convent, thinking that the fire had been put out by\nhis workmen. They, however, came down quickly after him, without having\ncompletely extinguished the fire; and the fire among the charcoal\nrevived, and partly from the heat of the iron, and partly from the\nsparks of the charcoal, the fire spread itself to the wood and other\ncombustibles beneath. After the fire was thus commenced, the lead\nmelted, and the joists upon the beams ignited; and then the fire\nincreased prodigiously, and consumed everything.' Hemingburgh concludes\nby saying that all that they could get from the culprits was the\nexclamation, 'Quid potui ego?' Shortly after this disaster the Prior\nand convent wrote to Edward II., excusing themselves from granting a\ncorrody owing to their great losses through the burning of the\nmonastery, as well as the destruction of their property by the Scots.\nBut Guisborough, next to Fountains, was almost the richest\nestablishment in Yorkshire, and thus in a few years' time there arose\nfrom the Norman foundations a stately church and convent built in the\nEarly Decorated style.\n\nOne of the most interesting relics of the great priory is the\naltar-tomb, believed to be that of Robert de Brus of Annandale. The\nstone slabs are now built into the walls on each side of the porch of\nGuisborough Church. They may have been removed there from the abbey for\nsafety at the time of the dissolution. Hemingburgh, in his chronicle\nfor the year 1294, says: 'Robert de Brus the fourth died on the eve of\nGood Friday; who disputed with John de Balliol, before the King of\nEngland, about the succession to the kingdom of Scotland. And, as he\nordered when alive, he was buried in the priory of Gysburn with great\nhonour, beside his own father.' A great number of other famous people\nwere buried here in accordance with their wills. Guisborough has even\nbeen claimed as the resting place of Robert Bruce, the champion of\nScottish freedom, but there is ample evidence for believing that his\nheart was buried at Melrose Abbey and his body in Dunfermline Abbey.\n\nThe central portion of the town of Guisborough, by the market-cross and\nthe two chief inns, is quaint and fairly picturesque, but the long\nstreet as it goes westward deteriorates into rows of new cottages,\ninevitable in a mining country.\n\nMining operations have been carried on around Guisborough since the\ntime of Queen Elizabeth, for the discovery of alum dates from that\nperiod, and when that industry gradually declined, it was replaced by\nthe iron mines of today. Mr. Thomas Chaloner of Guisborough, in his\ntravels on the Continent about the end of the sixteenth century, saw\nthe Pope's alum works near Rome, and was determined to start the\nindustry in his native parish of Guisborough, feeling certain that alum\ncould be worked with profit in his own country. As it was essential to\nhave one or two men who were thoroughly versed in the processes of the\nmanufacture, Mr. Chaloner induced some of the Pope's workmen by heavy\nbribes to come to England. The risks attending this overt act were\nterrible, for the alum works brought in a large revenue to His\nHoliness, and the discovery of such a design would have meant capital\npunishment to the offender. The workmen were therefore induced to get\ninto large casks, which were secretly conveyed on board a ship which\nwas shortly sailing for England.\n\nWhen the Pope received the intelligence some time afterwards, he\nthundered forth against Mr. Chaloner and the workmen the most awful and\ncomprehensive curse. They were to be cursed most wholly and thoroughly\nin every part of their bodies, every saint was to curse them, and from\nthe thresholds of the holy church of God Almighty they were to be\nsequestered, that they might 'be tormented, disposed of, and delivered\nover with Dathan and Abiram, and with those who say unto the Lord God,\n\"Depart from us; we desire not to know thy ways.\"'\n\nThe broad valley stretching from Guisborough to the sea contains the\nbeautifully wooded park of Skelton Castle. The trees in great masses\ncover the gentle slopes on either side of the Skelton Beck, and almost\nhide the modern mansion. The buildings include part of the ancient\ncastle of the Bruces, who were Lords of Skelton for many years.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nFROM PICKERING TO RIEVAULX ABBEY\n\n\nThe broad Vale of Pickering, watered by the Derwent, the Rye and their\nmany tributaries, is a wonderful contrast to the country we have been\nexploring. The level pastures, where cattle graze and cornfields\nabound, seem to suggest that we are separated from the heather by many\nleagues; but we have only to look beyond the hedgerows to see that the\nhorizon to the north is formed by lofty moors only a few miles distant.\n\nJust where the low meadows are beginning to rise steadily from the vale\nstands the town of Pickering, dominated by the lofty stone spire of its\nparish church and by the broken towers of the castle. There is a wide\nstreet, bordered by dark stone buildings, that leads steeply from the\nriver to the church. The houses are as a rule quite featureless, but we\nhave learnt to expect this in a county where stone is abundant, for\nonly the extremely old and the palpably new buildings stand out from\nthe grey austerity of the average Yorkshire town. In rare cases some of\nthe houses are brightened with white and cream paint on windows and\ndoors, and if these commendable efforts became less rare, Pickering\nwould have as cheerful an aspect to the stranger as Helmsley, which we\nshall pass on our way to Rievaulx.\n\nApproached by narrow passages between the grey houses and shops, the\nchurch is most imposing, for it is not only a large building, but the\ncramped position magnifies its bulk and emphasizes the height of the\nNorman tower, surmounted by the tall stone spire added during the\nfourteenth century. Going up a wide flight of steps, necessitated by\nthe slope of the ground, we enter the church through the beautiful\nporch, and are at once confronted with the astonishingly perfect\npaintings which cover the walls of the nave. The pictures occupy nearly\nall the available wall-space between the arches and the top of the\nclerestory, and their crude quaintnesses bring the ideas of the first\nhalf of the fifteenth century vividly before us. There is a spirited\nrepresentation of St. George in conflict with a terrible dragon, and\nclose by we see a bearded St. Christopher holding a palm-tree with both\nhands, and bearing on his shoulder the infant Christ. Then comes\nHerod's feast, with the King labelled _Herodi_. The guests are\nshown with their arms on the table in the most curious positions, and\nall the royal folk are wearing ermine. The coronation of the Virgin,\nthe martyrdom of St. Thomas a Becket, and the martyrdom of St. Edmund,\nwho is perforated with arrows, complete the series on the north side.\nAlong the south wall the paintings show the story of St. Catherine of\nAlexandria and the seven Corporal Acts of Mercy. Further on come scenes\nfrom the life of our Lord.\n\nThe simple Norman arcade on the north side of the nave has plain round\ncolumns and semicircular arches, but the south side belongs to later\nNorman times, and has ornate columns and capitals. At least one member\nof the great Bruce family, who had a house at Pickering called Bruce's\nHall, and whose ascendency at Guisborough has already been mentioned,\nwas buried here, for the figure of a knight in chain-mail by the\nlectern probably represents Sir William Bruce. In the chapel there is a\nsumptuous monument bearing the effigies of Sir David and Dame Margery\nRoucliffe. The knight wears the collar of SS, and his arms are on his\nsurcoat.\n\nWhen John Leland, the 'Royal Antiquary' employed by Henry VIII., came\nto Pickering, he described the castle, which was in a more perfect\nstate than it is to-day. He says: 'In the first Court of it be a 4\nToures, of the which one is caullid Rosamunde's Toure.' Also of the\ninner court he writes of '4 Toures, wherof the Kepe is one.' This keep\nand Rosamund's Tower, as well as the ruins of some of the others, are\nstill to be seen on the outer walls, so that from some points of view\nthe ruins are dignified and picturesque. The area enclosed was large,\nand in early times the castle must have been almost impregnable. But\nduring the Civil War it was much damaged by the soldiers quartered\nthere, and Sir Hugh Cholmley took lead, wood, and iron from it for the\ndefence of Scarborough. The wide view from the castle walls shows\nbetter than any description the importance of the position it occupied,\nand we feel, as we gaze over the vale or northwards to the moors, that\nthis was the dominant power over the whole countryside.\n\nAlthough Lastingham is not on the road to Helmsley, the few additional\nmiles will scarcely be counted when we are on our way to a church\nwhich, besides being architecturally one of the most interesting in the\ncounty, is perhaps unique in having at one time had a curate whose wife\nkept a public-house adjoining the church. Although this will scarcely\nbe believed, we have a detailed account of the matter in a little book\npublished in 1806.\n\nThe clergyman, whose name was Carter, had to subsist on the slender\nsalary of L20 a year and a few surplice fees. This would not have\nallowed any margin for luxuries in the case of a bachelor; but this\npoor man was married, and he had thirteen children. He was a keen\nfisherman, and his angling in the moorland streams produced a plentiful\nsupply of fish--in fact, more than his family could consume. But this,\neven though he often exchanged part of his catches with neighbours, was\nnot sufficient to keep the wolf from the door, and drastic measures had\nto be taken. The parish was large, and, as many of the people were\nobliged to come 'from ten to fifteen miles' to church, it seemed\npossible that some profit might be made by serving refreshments to the\nparishioners. Mrs. Carter superintended this department, and it seems\nthat the meals between the services soon became popular. But the story\nof 'a parson-publican' was soon conveyed to the Archdeacon of the\ndiocese, who at the next visitation endeavoured to find out the truth\nof the matter. Mr. Carter explained the circumstances, and showed that,\nfar from being a source of disorder, his wife's public-house was an\ninfluence for good. 'I take down my violin,' he continued, 'and play\nthem a few tunes, which gives me an opportunity of seeing that they get\nno more liquor than necessary for refreshment; and if the young people\npropose a dance, I seldom answer in the negative; nevertheless, when I\nannounce time for return, they are ever ready to obey my commands.' The\nArchdeacon appears to have been a broad-minded man, for he did not\nreprimand Mr. Carter at all; and as there seems to have been no mention\nof an increased stipend, the parson publican must have continued this\nstrange anomaly.\n\nThe writings of Bede give a special interest to Lastingham, for he\ntells us how King Oidilward requested Bishop Cedd to build a monastery\nthere. The Saxon buildings that appeared at that time have gone, so\nthat the present church cannot be associated with the seventh century.\nNo doubt the destruction was the work of the Danes, who plundered the\nwhole of this part of Yorkshire. The church that exists today is of\nTransitional Norman date, and the beautiful little crypt, which has an\napse, nave and aisles, is coeval with the superstructure.\n\nThe situation of Lastingham in a deep and picturesque valley surrounded\nby moors and overhung by woods is extremely rich.\n\nFurther to the west there are a series of beautiful dales watered by\nbecks whose sources are among the Cleveland Hills. On our way to\nRyedale, the loveliest of these, we pass through Kirby Moorside, a\nlittle town which has gained a place in history as the scene of the\ndeath of the notorious George Villiers, second Duke of Buckingham, on\nApril 17, 1687. The house in which he died is on the south side of the\nKing's Head, and in one of the parish registers there is the entry\nunder the date of April 19th, 'Gorges viluas, Lord dooke of Bookingam,\netc.' Further down the street stands an inn with a curious porch,\nsupported by turned wooden pillars, bearing the inscription:\n\n  'Anno: Dom 1632 October xi\n      William Wood'\n\nKirkdale, with its world-renowned cave, to which we have already\nreferred, lies about two miles to the west. The quaint little Saxon\nchurch there is one of the few bearing evidences of its own date,\nascertained by the discovery in 1771 of a Saxon sun-dial, which had\nsurvived under a layer of plaster, and was also protected by the porch.\nA translation of the inscription reads: 'Orm, the son of Gamal, bought\nSt. Gregory's Minster when it was all broken and fallen, and he caused\nit to be made anew from the ground, for Christ and St. Gregory, in the\ndays of King Edward and in the days of Earl Tosti, and Hawarth wrought\nme and Brand the prior (priest or priests).' By this we are plainly\ntold that a church was built there in the reign of Edward the\nConfessor.\n\nA pleasant road leads through Nawton to the beautiful little town of\nHelmsley. A bend of the broad, swift-flowing Rye forms one boundary of\nthe place, and is fed by a gushing brook that finds its way from\nRievaulx Moor, and forms a pretty feature of the main street.\n\nA narrow turning by the market-house shows the torn and dishevelled\nfragment of the keep of Helmsley Castle towering above the thatched\nroofs in the foreground. The ruin is surrounded by tall elms, and from\nthis point of view, when backed by a cloudy sunset makes a wonderful\npicture. Like Scarborough, this stronghold was held for the King during\nthe Civil War. After the Battle of Marston Moor and the fall of York,\nFairfax came to Helmsley and invested the castle. He received a wound\nin the shoulder during the siege; but the garrison having surrendered\non honourable terms, the Parliament ordered that the castle should be\ndismantled, and the thoroughness with which the instructions were\ncarried out remind one of Knaresborough, for one side of the keep was\nblown to pieces by a terrific explosion and nearly everything else was\ndestroyed.\n\nAll the beauty and charm of this lovely district is accentuated in\nRyedale, and when we have accomplished the three long uphill miles to\nRievaulx, and come out upon the broad grassy terrace above the abbey,\nwe seem to have entered a Land of Beulah. We see a peaceful valley\noverlooked on all sides by lofty hills, whose steep sides are clothed\nwith luxuriant woods; we see the Rye flowing past broad green meadows;\nand beneath the tree-covered precipice below our feet appear the\nsolemn, roofless remains of one of the first Cistercian monasteries\nestablished in this country. There is nothing to disturb the peace that\nbroods here, for the village consists of a mere handful of old and\npicturesque cottages, and we might stay on the terrace for hours, and,\nbeyond the distant shouts of a few children at play and the crowing of\nsome cocks, hear nothing but the hum of insects and the singing of\nbirds. We take a steep path through the wood which leads us down to the\nabbey ruins.\n\nThe magnificent Early English choir and the Norman transepts stand\nastonishingly complete in their splendid decay, and the lower portions\nof the nave, which, until 1922, lay buried beneath masses of\ngrass-grown debris, are now exposed to view. The richly-draped\nhill-sides appear as a succession of beautiful pictures framed by the\ncolumns and arches on each side of the choir. As they stand exposed to\nthe weather, the perfectly proportioned mouldings, the clustered\npillars in a wonderfully good state of preservation, and the almost\nuninjured clerestory are more impressive than in an elaborately-restored\ncathedral.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nDESCRIBES THE DALE COUNTRY AS A WHOLE\n\n\nWhen in the early years of life one learns for the first time the name\nof that range of mountains forming the backbone of England, the\nyouthful scholar looks forward to seeing in later years the prolonged\nseries of lofty hills known as the 'Pennine Range.' His imagination\npictures Pen-y-ghent and Ingleborough as great peaks, seldom free from\na mantle of clouds, for are they not called 'mountains of the Pennine\nRange,' and do they not appear in almost as large type in the school\ngeography as Snowdon and Ben Nevis? But as the scholar grows older and\nmore able to travel, so does the Pennine Range recede from his vision,\nuntil it becomes almost as remote as those crater-strewn mountains in\nthe Moon which have a name so similar.\n\nThis elusiveness on the part of a natural feature so essentially static\nas a mountain range is attributable to the total disregard of the name\nof this particular chain of hills. In the same way as the term 'Cumbrian\nHills' is exchanged for the popular 'Lake District,' so is a large\nsection of the Pennine Range paradoxically known as the 'Yorkshire\nDales.'\n\nIt is because the hills are so big that the valleys are deep and it is\nowing to the great watersheds that these long and narrow dales are\nbeautified by some of the most copious and picturesque rivers in\nEngland. In spite of this, however, when one climbs any of the fells\nover 2,000 feet, and looks over the mountainous ridges on every side,\none sees, as a rule, no peak or isolated height of any description to\nattract one's attention. Instead of the rounded or angular projections\nfrom the horizon that are usually associated with a mountainous\ndistrict, there are great expanses of brown table-land that form\nthemselves into long parallel lines in the distance, and give a sense\nof wild desolation in some ways more striking than the peaks of\nScotland or Wales. The thick formations of millstone grit and limestone\nthat rest upon the shale have generally avoided crumpling or\ndistortion, and thus give the mountain views the appearance of having\nhad all the upper surfaces rolled flat when they were in a plastic\ncondition. Denudation and the action of ice in the glacial epochs have\nworn through the hard upper stratum, and formed the long and narrow\ndales; and in Littondale, Wharfedale, Wensleydale, and many other\nparts, one may plainly see the perpendicular wall of rock sharply\ndefining the upper edges of the valleys. The softer rocks below\ngenerally take a gentle slope from the base of the hard gritstone to\nthe riverside pastures below. At the edges of the dales, where\nwater-falls pour over the wall of limestone--as at Hardraw Scar, near\nHawes--the action of water is plainly demonstrated, for one can see the\nrapidity with which the shale crumbles, leaving the harder rocks\noverhanging above.\n\nUnlike the moors of the north-eastern parts of Yorkshire, the fells are\nnot prolific in heather. It is possible to pass through\nWensleydale--or, indeed, most of the dales--without seeing any heather\nat all. On the broad plateaux between the dales there are stretches of\nmoor partially covered with ling; but in most instances the fells and\nmoors are grown over at their higher levels with bent and coarse grass,\ngenerally of a browny-ochrish colour, broken here and there by an\noutcrop of limestone that shows grey against the swarthy vegetation.\n\nIn the upper portions of the dales--even in the narrow riverside\npastures--the fences are of stone, turned a very dark colour by\nexposure, and everywhere on the slopes of the hills a wide network of\nthese enclosures can be seen traversing even the most precipitous\nascents. Where the dales widen out towards the fat plains of the Vale\nof York, quickset hedges intermingle with the gaunt stone, and as one\ngets further eastwards the green hedge becomes triumphant. The stiles\nthat are the fashion in the stone-fence districts make quite an\ninteresting study to strangers, for, wood being an expensive luxury,\nand stone being extremely cheap, everything is formed of the more\nenduring material. Instead of a trap-gate, one generally finds an\nexcessively narrow opening in the fences, only just giving space for\nthe thickness of the average knee, and thus preventing the passage of\nthe smallest lamb. Some stiles are constructed with a large flat stone\nprojecting from each side, one slightly in front and overlapping the\nother, so that one can only pass through by making a very careful\nS-shaped movement. More common are the projecting stones, making a\nflight of precarious steps on each side of the wall.\n\nExcept in their lowest and least mountainous parts, where they are\nsubject to the influences of the plains, the dales are entirely\ninnocent of red tiles and haystacks. The roofs of churches, cottages,\nbarns and mansions, are always of the local stone, that weathers to\nbeautiful shades of green and grey, and prevents the works of man from\njarring with the great sweeping hill-sides. Then, instead of the\nfamiliar grey-brown haystack, one sees in almost every meadow a\nneatly-built stone house with an upper storey. The lower part is\ngenerally used as a shelter for cattle, while above is stored hay or\nstraw. By this system a huge amount of unnecessary carting is avoided,\nand where roads are few and generally of exceeding steepness a saving\nof this nature is a benefit easily understood.\n\nThe villages of the dales, although having none of the bright colours\nof a level country, are often exceedingly quaint, and rich in soft\nshades of green and grey. In the autumn the mellowed tints of the stone\nhouses are contrasted with the fierce yellows and browny-reds of the\nfoliage, and the villages become full of bright colours. At all times,\nexcept when the country is shrivelled by an icy northern wind, the\nscenery of the dales has a thousand charms.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nRICHMOND\n\n\nFor the purposes of this book we may consider Richmond as the gateway\nof the dale country. There are other gates and approaches, some of\nwhich may have advocates who claim their superiority over Richmond as\nstarting-places for an exploration of this description, but for my\npart, I can find no spot on any side of the mountainous region so\nentirely satisfactory. If we were to commence at Bedale or Leyburn,\nthere is no exact point where the open country ceases and the dale\nbegins; but here at Richmond there is not the very smallest doubt, for\non reaching the foot of the mass of rock dominated by the castle and\nthe town, Swaledale commences in the form of a narrow ravine, and from\nthat point westwards the valley never ceases to be shut in by steep\nsides, which become narrower and grander with every mile.\n\nThe railway that keeps Richmond in touch with the world does its work\nin a most inoffensive manner, and by running to the bottom of the hill\non which the town stands, and by there stopping short, we seem to have\na strong hint that we have been brought to the edge of a new element in\nwhich railways have no rights whatever. This is as it should be, and we\ncan congratulate the North-Eastern Company for its discretion and its\nsense of fitness. Even the station is built of solid stonework, with a\nstrong flavour of medievalism in its design, and its attractiveness is\nenhanced by the complete absence of other modern buildings. We are thus\nwelcomed to the charms of Richmond at once. The rich sloping meadows by\nthe river, crowned with dense woodlands, surround us and form a\nbeautiful setting of green for the town, which has come down from the\nfantastic days of the Norman Conquest without any drastic or unseemly\nchanges, and thus has still the compactness and the romantic outline of\nfeudal times.\n\nFrom whatever side you approach it, Richmond has always some fine\ncombination of towers overlooking a confusion of old red roofs and of\nrocky heights crowned with ivy-mantled walls, all set in the most\nsumptuous surroundings of silvery river and wooded hills, such as the\nartists of the age of steel-engraving loved to depict. Every one of\nthese views has in it one dominating feature in the magnificent Norman\nkeep of the castle. It overlooks church towers and everything else with\nprecisely the same aloofness of manner it must have assumed as soon as\nthe builders of nearly eight hundred years ago had put the last stone\nin place. Externally, at least, it is as complete to-day as it was\nthen, and as there is no ivy upon it, I cannot help thinking that the\nBretons who built it in that long distant time would swell with pride\nwere they able to see how their ambitious work has come down the\ncenturies unharmed.\n\nWe can go across the modern bridge, with its castellated parapets, and\nclimb up the steep ascent on the further side, passing on the way the\nparish church, standing on the steep ground outside the circumscribed\nlimits of the wall which used to enclose the town in early times.\nTurning towards the castle, we go breathlessly up the cobbled street\nthat climbs resolutely to the market-place in a foolishly direct\nfashion, which might be understood if it were a Roman road. There is a\nsleepy quietness about this way up from the station, which is quite a\nshort distance, and we look for much movement and human activity in the\nwide space we have reached; but here, too, on this warm and sunny\nafternoon, the few folks who are about seem to find ample time for\nconversation and loitering.\n\nOn one side of us is the King's Head, whose steep tiled roof and square\nfront has just that air of respectable importance that one expects to\nfind in an old established English hotel. It looks across the cobbled\nspace to the curious block of buildings that seems to have been\nintended for a church but has relapsed into shops. The shouldering of\nsecular buildings against the walls of churches is a sight so familiar\nin parts of France that this market place has an almost Continental\nflavour, in keeping with the fact that Richmond grew up under the\nprotection of the formidable castle built by that Alan Rufus of\nBrittany who was the Conqueror's second cousin. The town ceased to be a\npossession of the Dukes of Brittany in the reign of Richard II., but\nthere had evidently been sufficient time to allow French ideals to\npercolate into the minds of the men of Richmond, for how otherwise can\nwe account for this strange familiarity of shops with a sacred building\nwhich is unheard of in any other English town? Where else can one find\na pork-butcher's shop inserted between the tower and the nave, or a\ntobacconist doing business in the aisle of a church? Even the lower\nparts of the tower have been given up to secular uses, so that one only\nrealizes the existence of the church by keeping far enough away to see\nthe sturdy pinnacled tower that rises above the desecrated lower\nportions of the building. In this tower hangs the curfew-bell, which is\nrung at 6 a.m. and 8 p.m., a custom, according to one writer, 'that has\ncontinued ever since the time of William the Conqueror.'\n\nAll the while we have been lingering in the market-place the great\nkeep has been looking at us over some old red roofs, and urging us to\ngo on at once to the finest sight that Richmond can offer, and,\nresisting the appeal no longer, we make our way down a narrow little\nstreet leading out to a walk that goes right round the castle cliffs at\nthe base of the ivy-draped walls.\n\nFrom down below comes the sound of the river, ceaselessly chafing its\nrocky bottom and the big boulders that lie in the way. You can\ndistinguish the hollow sound of the waters as they fall over ledges\ninto deep pools, and you can watch the silvery gleams of broken water\nbetween the old stone bridge and the dark shade of the woods. The\nmasses of trees clothing the side of the gorge add a note of mystery to\nthe picture by swallowing up the river in their heavy shade, for, owing\nto its sinuous course among the cliffs, one can see only a short piece\nof water beyond the bridge.\n\nThe old corner of the town at the foot of Bargate appears over the edge\nof the rocky slope, but on the opposite side of the Swale there is\nlittle to be seen beside the green meadows and shady coppices that\ncover the heights above the river.\n\nThere is a fascination in this view in its capacity for change. It\nresponds to every mood of the weather, and every sunset that glows\nacross the sombre woods has some freshness, some feature that is quite\nunlike any other. Autumn, too, is a memorable time for those who can\nwatch the face of Nature from this spot, for when one of those opulent\nevenings of the fall of the year turns the sky into a golden sea of\nglory, studded with strange purple islands, there is unutterable beauty\nin the flaming woods and the pale river.\n\nOn the way back to the market-place we pass a decayed arch that was\nprobably a postern in the walls of the town. There can be no doubt\nwhatever of the existence of these walls, for Leland begins his\ndescription of the town with the words '_Richemont_ Towne is\nwaullid,' and in another place he says: 'Waullid it was, but the waul\nis now decayid. The Names and Partes of 4 or 5 Gates yet remaine.' We\ncannot help wondering why Richmond could not have preserved her gates\nas York has done, or why she did not even make the effort sufficient to\nretain a single one, as Bridlington and Beverley did. The two\nposterns--one we have just mentioned, and the other in Friar's Wynd, on\nthe north side of the market-place, with a piece of wall 6 feet thick\nadjoining--are interesting, but we would have preferred something much\nfiner than these mere arches; and while we are grumbling over what\nRichmond has lost, we may also measure the disaster which befell the\nmarket-place in 1771, when the old cross was destroyed. Before that\nyear there stood on the site of the present obelisk a very fine cross\nwhich Clarkson, who wrote about a century ago, mentions as being the\ngreatest beauty of the town to an antiquary. A high flight of steps led\nup to a square platform, which was enclosed by a richly ornamented wall\nabout 6 feet high, having buttresses at the corners, each surmounted\nwith a dog seated on its hind-legs. Within the wall rose the cross,\nwith its shaft made from one piece of stone. There were 'many curious\ncompartments' in the wall, says Clarkson, and 'a door that opened into\nthe middle of the square,' but this may have been merely an arched\nopening. The enrichments, either of the cross itself or the wall,\nincluded four shields bearing the arms of the great families of\nFitz-Hugh, Scrope (quartering Tibetot), Conyers, and Neville. From the\ndescription there is little doubt that this cross was a very beautiful\nexample of Perpendicular or perhaps Decorated Gothic, in place of which\nwe have a crude and bulging obelisk bearing the inscription: 'Rebuilt\n(!) A.D. 1771, Christopher Wayne, Esq., Mayor'; it should surely have\nread: 'Perpetrated during the Mayoralty of Christopher Wayne Goth.'\n\nAlthough, as we have seen, Leland, who wrote in 1538, mentions\nFrenchgate and Finkel Street Gate as 'down,' yet they must have been\nonly partially destroyed, or were rebuilt afterwards, for Whitaker,\nwriting in 1823, mentions that they were pulled down 'not many years\nago' to allow the passage of broad and high-laden waggons. There can be\nlittle doubt, therefore, that, swollen with success after the\ndemolition of the cross, the Mayor and Corporation proceeded to attack\nthe remaining gateways, so that now not the smallest suggestion of\neither remains. But even here we have not completed the list of\nbarbarisms that took place about this time. The Barley Cross, which\nstood near the larger one, must have been quite an interesting feature.\nIt consisted of a lofty pillar with a cross at the top, and rings were\nfastened either on the shaft or to the steps upon which it stood, so\nthat the cross might answer the purpose of a whipping-post. The pillory\nstood not far away, and the May-pole is also mentioned.\n\nBut despite all this squandering of the treasures that it should have\nbeen the business of the town authorities to preserve, the tower of the\nGrey Friars has survived, and, next to the castle, it is one of the\nchief ornaments of the town. Some other portions of the monastery are\nincorporated in the buildings which now form the Grammar School. The\nGrey Friars is on the north side of the town, outside the narrow limits\nof the walls, and was probably only finished in time to witness the\ndispersal of the friars who had built it. It is even possible that it\nwas part of a new church that was still incomplete when the Dissolution\nof the Monasteries made the work of no account except as building\nmaterials for the townsfolk. The actual day of the surrender was\nJanuary 19, 1538, and we wonder if Robert Sanderson, the Prior, and the\nfourteen brethren under him, suffered much from the privations that\nmust have attended them at that coldest period of the year. At one time\nthe friars, being of a mendicant order, and inured to hard living and\nscanty fare, might have made light of such a disaster, but in these\nlater times they had expanded somewhat from their austere ways of\nliving, and the dispersal must have cost them much suffering.\n\nGoing back to the reign of Henry VII. or there-abouts, we come across\nthe curious ballad of 'The Felon Sow of Rokeby and the Freres of\nRichmond' quoted from an old manuscript by Sir Walter Scott in\n'Rokeby.' It may have been as a practical joke, or merely as a good way\nof getting rid of such a terrible beast, that\n\n  'Ralph of Rokeby, with goodwill,\n  The fryers of Richmond gave her till.'\n\nFriar Middleton, who with two lusty men was sent to fetch the sow from\nRokeby, could scarcely have known that she was\n\n  'The grisliest beast that ere might be,\n  Her head was great and gray:\n  She was bred in Rokeby Wood;\n  There were few that thither goed,\n  That came on live [= alive] away.\n\n  'She was so grisley for to meete,\n  She rave the earth up with her feete,\n  And bark came fro the tree;\n  When fryer Middleton her saugh,\n  Weet ye well he might not laugh,\n  Full earnestly look'd hee.'\n\nTo calm the terrible beast when they found it almost impossible to hold\nher, the friar began to read 'in St. John his Gospell,' but\n\n  'The sow she would not Latin heare,\n  But rudely rushed at the frear,'\n\nwho, turning very white, dodged to the shelter of a tree, whence he saw\nwith horror that the sow had got clear of the other two men. At this\ntheir courage evaporated, and all three fled for their lives along the\nWatling Street. When they came to Richmond and told their tale of the\n'feind of hell' in the garb of a sow, the warden decided to hire on the\nnext day two of the 'boldest men that ever were borne.' These two,\nGilbert Griffin and a 'bastard son of Spaine,' went to Rokeby clad in\narmour and carrying their shields and swords of war, and even then they\nonly just overcame the grisly sow.\n\nIf we go across the river by the modern bridge, we can see the humble\nremains of St. Martin's Priory standing in a meadow by the railway. The\nruins consist of part of a Perpendicular tower and a Norman doorway.\nPerhaps the tower was built in order that the Grey Friars might not\neclipse the older foundation, for St. Martin's was a cell belonging to\nSt. Mary's Abbey at York and was founded by Wyman, steward or dapifer\nto the Earl of Richmond, about the year 1100, whereas the Franciscans\nin the town owed their establishment to Radulph Fitz-Ranulph, a lord of\nMiddleham in 1258. The doorway of St. Martin's, with its zigzag\nmouldings must be part of Wyman's building, but no other traces of it\nremain. Having come back so rapidly to the Norman age, we may well stay\nthere for a time while we make our way over the bridge again and up the\nsteep ascent of Frenchgate to the castle.\n\nOn entering the small outer barbican, which is reached by a lane from\nthe market-place, we come to the base of the Norman keep. Its great\nheight of nearly 100 feet is quite unbroken from foundations to summit,\nand the flat buttresses are featureless. The recent pointing of the\nmasonry has also taken away any pronounced weathering, and has left the\ntower with almost the same gaunt appearance that it had when Duke Conan\nsaw it completed. Passing through the arch in the wall abutting the\nkeep, we come into the grassy space of over two acres, that is enclosed\nby the ramparts. It is not known by what stages the keep reached its\npresent form, though there is every reason to believe that Conan, the\nfifth Earl of Richmond, left the tower externally as we see it to-day.\nThis puts the date of the completion of the keep between 1146 and 1171.\nThe floors are now a store for the uniforms and accoutrements of the\nsoldiers quartered at Richmond, so that there is little to be seen as\nwe climb a staircase in the walls 11 feet thick, and reach the\nbattlemented turrets. Looking downwards, we gaze right into the\nchimneys of the nearest houses, and we see the old roofs of the town\npacked closely together in the shelter of the mighty tower. A few tiny\npeople are moving about in the market-place, and there is a thin web of\ndrifting smoke between us and them. Everything is peaceful and remote;\neven the sound of the river is lost in the wind that blows freely upon\nus from the great moorland wastes stretching away to the western\nhorizon. It is a romantic country that lies around us, and though the\ncultivated area must be infinitely greater than in the fighting days\nwhen these battlements were finished, yet I suppose the Vale of Mowbray\nwhich we gaze upon to the east must have been green, and to some extent\nfertile, when that Conan who was Duke of Brittany and also Earl of\nRichmond looked out over the innumerable manors that were his Yorkshire\npossessions. I can imagine his eye glancing down on a far more\nthrilling scene than the green three-sided courtyard enclosed by a\ncrumbling grey wall, though to him the buildings, the men, and every\ndetail that filled the great space, were no doubt quite prosaic. It did\nnot thrill him to see a man-at-arms cleaning weapons, when the man and\nhis clothes, and even the sword, were as modern and everyday as the\nsoldier's wife and child that we can see ourselves, but how much would\nwe not give for a half-an-hour of his vision, or even a part of a\nsecond, with a good camera in our hands?\n\nIn the lower part of what is called Robin Hood's Tower is the Chapel of\nSt. Nicholas, with arcaded walls of early Norman date, and a long and\nnarrow slit forming the east window. More interesting than this is the\nNorman hall at the south-east angle of the walls. It was possibly used\nas the banqueting-room of the castle, and is remarkable as being one of\nthe best preserved of the Norman halls forming separate buildings that\nare to be found in this country. The hall is roofless, but the corbels\nremain in a perfect state, and the windows on each side are well\npreserved. The builder was probably Earl Conan, for the keep has\ndetails of much the same character. It is generally called Scolland's\nHall, after the Lord of Bedale of that name, who was a sewer or dapifer\nto the first Earl Alan of Richmond. Scolland was one of the tenants of\nthe Earl, and under the feudal system of tenure he took part in the\nregular guarding of the castle.\n\nThere is probably much Norman work in various parts of the crumbling\ncurtain walls, and at the south-west corner a Norman turret is still to\nbe seen.\n\nAlan, who received from the Conqueror the vast possessions of Earl\nEdwin, was no doubt the founder of Richmond. He probably received this\nsplendid reward for his services soon after the suppression of the\nSaxon efforts for liberty under the northern Earls. William, having\ncrushed out the rebellion in the remorseless fashion which finally gave\nhim peace in his new possessions, distributed the devastated Saxon\nlands among his supporters; thus a great part of the earldom of Mercia\nfell to this Breton.\n\nThe site of Richmond was fixed as the new centre of power, and the\nname, with its apparently obvious meaning, may date from that time,\nunless the suggested Anglo-Saxon derivation which gives it as\nRice-munt--the hill of rule--is correct. After this Gilling must soon\nhave ceased to be of any account. There can be little doubt that the\ncastle was at once planned to occupy the whole area enclosed by the\nwalls as they exist to-day, although the full strength of the place was\nnot realized until the time of the fifth Earl, who, as we have seen,\nwas most probably the builder of the keep in its final form, as well as\nother parts of the castle. Richmond must then have been considered\nalmost impregnable, and this may account for the fact that it appears\nto have never been besieged. In 1174, when William the Lion of Scotland\nwas invading England, we are told in Jordan Fantosme's Chronicle that\nHenry II., anxious for the safety of the honour of Richmond, and\nperhaps of its custodian as well, asked: 'Randulf de Glanvile est-il en\nRichemunt?' The King was in France, his possessions were threatened\nfrom several quarters, and it would doubtless be a relief to him to\nknow that a stronghold of such importance was under the personal\ncommand of so able a man as Glanville. In July of that year the danger\nfrom the Scots was averted by a victory at Alnwick, in which fight\nGlanville was one of the chief commanders of the English, and he\nprobably led the men of Richmondshire.\n\nIt is a strange thing that Richmond Castle, despite its great\npre-eminence, should have been allowed to become a ruin in the reign of\nEdward III.--a time when castles had obviously lost none of the\nadvantages to the barons which they had possessed in Norman times. The\nonly explanation must have been the divided interests of the owners,\nfor, as Dukes of Brittany, as well as Earls of Richmond, their English\npossessions were frequently endangered when France and England were at\nwar. And so it came about that when a Duke of Brittany gave his support\nto the King of France in a quarrel with the English, his possessions\nnorth of the Channel became Crown property. How such a condition of\naffairs could have continued for so long is difficult to understand,\nbut the final severing came at last, when the unhappy Richard II. was\non the throne of England. The honour of Richmond then passed to Ralph\nNeville, the first Earl of Westmoreland, but the title was given to\nEdmund Tudor, whose mother was Queen Catherine, the widow of Henry V.\nEdmund Tudor, as all know, married Margaret Beaufort, the heiress of\nJohn of Gaunt, and died about two months before his wife--then scarcely\nfourteen years old--gave birth to his only son, who succeeded to the\nthrone of England as Henry VII. He was Earl of Richmond from his birth,\nand it was he who carried the name to the Thames by giving it to his\nsplendid palace which he built at Shene. Even the ballad of 'The Lass\nof Richmond Hill' is said to come from Yorkshire, although it is\ncommonly considered a possession of Surrey.\n\nProtected by the great castle, there came into existence the town of\nRichmond, which grew and flourished. The houses must have been packed\nclosely together to provide the numerous people with quarters inside\nthe wall which was built to protect the place from the raiding Scots.\nThe area of the town was scarcely larger than the castle, and although\nin this way the inhabitants gained security from one danger, they ran a\ngreater risk from a far more insidious foe, which took the form of\npestilences of a most virulent character. After one of these\nvisitations the town of Richmond would be left in a pitiable plight.\nMany houses would be deserted, and fields became 'over-run with briars,\nnettles, and other noxious weeds.'\n\nEasby Abbey is so much a possession of Richmond that we cannot go\ntowards the mountains until we have seen something of its charms. The\nruins slumber in such unutterable peace by the riverside that the place\nis well suited to our mood to go a-dreaming of the centuries which have\nbeen so long dead that our imaginations are not cumbered with any of\nthe dull times that may have often set the canons of St. Agatha's\nyawning. The walk along the steep shady bank above the river is\nbeautiful all the way, and the surroundings of the broken walls and\ntraceried windows are singularly rich. There is nothing, however, at\nEasby that makes a striking picture, although there are many\narchitectural fragments that are full of beauty. Fountains, Rievaulx\nand Tintern, all leave Easby far behind, but there are charms enough\nhere with which to be content, and it is, perhaps, a pleasant thought\nto know that, although on this sunny afternoon these meadows by the\nSwale seem to reach perfection, yet in the neighbourhood of Ripon there\nis something still finer waiting for us. Of the abbey church scarcely\nmore than enough has survived for the preparation of a ground-plan, and\nmany of the evidences are now concealed by the grass. The range of\ndomestic buildings that surrounded the cloister garth are, therefore,\nthe chief interest, although these also are broken and roofless. We can\nwander among the ivy-grown walls which, in the refectory, retain some\nsemblance of their original form, and we can see the picturesque\nremains of the common-room, the guest-hall, the chapter-house, and the\nsacristy. Beyond the ruins of the north transept, a corridor leads into\nthe infirmary, which, besides having an unusual position, is remarkable\nas being one of the most complete groups of buildings set apart for\nthis object. A noticeable feature of the cloister garth is a Norman\narch belonging to a doorway that appears to be of later date. This is\nprobably the only survival of the first monastery founded, it is said,\nby Roald, Constable of Richmond Castle, in 1152. Building of an\nextensive character was, therefore, in progress at the same time in\nthese sloping meadows, as on the castle heights, and St. Martin's\nPriory, close to the town, had not long been completed. Whoever may\nhave been the founder of the abbey, it is definitely known that the\ngreat family of Scrope obtained the privileges that had been possessed\nby the Constable, and they added so much to the property of the\nmonastery that in the reign of Henry VIII. the Scropes were considered\nthe original founders. Easby thus became the stately burying-place of\nthe family and the splendid tombs that appeared in the choir of their\nchurch were a constant reminder to the canons of the greatness of the\nlords of Bolton. Sir Henry le Scrope was buried beneath a great stone\neffigy, bearing the arms--azure, a bend or--of his house. Near by lay\nSir William le Scrope's armed figure, and round about were many others\nof the family buried beneath flat stones. We know this from the\nstatement of an Abbot of Easby in the fourteenth century; and but for\nthe record of his words there would be nothing to tell us anything of\nthese ponderous memorials, which have disappeared as completely as\nthough they had had no more permanence than the yellow leaves that are\njust beginning to flutter from the trees. The splendid church, the\ntombs, and even the very family of Scrope, have disappeared; but across\nthe hills, in the valley of the Ure, their castle still stands, and in\nthe little church of Wensley there can still be seen the parclose\nscreen of Perpendicular date that one of the Scropes must have rescued\nwhen the monastery was being stripped and plundered.\n\nThe fine gate-house of Easby Abbey, which is in a good state of\npreservation, stands a little to the east of the parish church, and the\ngranary is even now in use.\n\nOn the sides of the parvise over the porch of the parish church are the\narms of Scrope, Conyers, and Aske; and in the chancel of this extremely\ninteresting old building there can be seen a series of wall-paintings,\nsome of which probably date from the reign of Henry III. This would\nmake them earlier than those at Pickering.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nSWALEDALE\n\n\nThere is a certain elevated and wind-swept spot, scarcely more than a\nlong mile from Richmond, that commands a view over a wide extent of\nromantic country. Vantage-points of this type, within easy reach of a\nfair-sized town, are inclined to be overrated, and, what is far worse,\nto be spoiled by the litter of picnic parties; but Whitcliffe Scar is\nfree from both objections. In magnificent September weather one may\nspend many hours in the midst of this great panorama without being\ndisturbed by a single human being, besides a possible farm labourer or\nshepherd; and if scraps of paper and orange-peel are ever dropped here,\nthe keen winds that come from across the moors dispose of them as\nefficaciously as the keepers of any public parks.\n\nThe view is removed from a comparison with many others from the fact\nthat one is situated at the dividing-line between the richest\ncultivation and the wildest moorlands. Whitcliffe Scar is the Mount\nPisgah from whence the jaded dweller in towns can gaze into a promised\nland of solitude,\n\n  'Where things that own not man's dominion dwell,\n  And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been.'\n\nThe eastward view of green and smiling country is undeniably beautiful,\nbut to those who can appreciate Byron's enthusiasm for the trackless\nmountain there is something more indefinable and inspiring in the\nmysterious loneliness of the west. The long, level lines of the\nmoorland horizon, when the sun is beginning to climb downwards, are cut\nout in the softest blue and mauve tints against the shimmering\ntransparency of the western sky, and the plantations that clothe the\nsides of the dale beneath one are filled with wonderful shadows, which\nare thrown out with golden outlines. The view along the steep valley\nextends for a few miles, and then is suddenly cut off by a sharp bend\nwhere the Swale, a silver ribbon along the bottom of the dale,\ndisappears among the sombre woods and the shoulders of the hills.\n\nIn this aspect of Swaledale one sees its mildest and most civilized\nmood; for beyond the purple hill-side that may be seen in the\nillustration, cultivation becomes more palpably a struggle, and the\ngaunt moors, broken by lines of precipitous scars, assume control of\nthe scenery.\n\nFrom 200 feet below, where the river is flowing along its stony bed,\ncomes the sound of the waters ceaselessly grinding the pebbles, and\nfrom the green pastures there floats upwards a distant ba-baaing. No\nrailway has penetrated the solitudes of Swaledale, and, as far as one\nmay look into the future in such matters, there seems every possibility\nof this loneliest and grandest of the Yorkshire dales retaining its\nisolation in this respect. None but the simplest of sounds, therefore,\nare borne on the keen winds that come from the moorland heights, and\nthe purity of the air whispers in the ear the pleasing message of a\nland where chimneys have never been.\n\nBesides the original name of Whitcliffe Scar, this remarkable\nview-point has, since 1606, been popularly known as 'Willance's Leap.'\nIn that year a certain Robert Willance, whose father appears to have\nbeen a successful draper in Richmond, was hunting in the neighbourhood,\nwhen he found himself enveloped in a fog. It must have been\nsufficiently dense to shut out even the nearest objects; for, without\nany warning, Willance found himself on the verge of the scar, and\nbefore he could check his horse both were precipitated over the cliff.\nWe have no detailed account of whether the fall was broken in any way;\nbut, although his horse was killed instantly, Willance, by some almost\nmiraculous good fortune, found himself alive at the bottom with nothing\nworse than a broken leg.\n\nIt is a difficult matter to decide which is the more attractive means\nof exploring Swaledale; for if one keeps to the road at the bottom of\nthe valley many beautiful and remarkable aspects of the country are\nmissed, and yet if one goes over the moors it is impossible really to\nexplore the recesses of the dale. The old road from Richmond to Reeth\navoids the dale altogether, except for the last mile, and its ups and\nits downs make the traveller pay handsomely for the scenery by the way.\n\nBut this ought not to deter anyone from using the road; for the view of\nthe village of Marske, cosily situated among the wooded heights that\nrise above the beck, is missed by those who keep to the new road along\nthe banks of the Swale. The romantic seclusion of this village is\naccentuated towards evening, when a shadowy stillness fills the\nhollows. The higher woods may be still glowing with the light of the\ngolden west, while down below a softness of outline adds beauty to\nevery object. The old bridge that takes the road to Reeth across Marske\nBeck needs no such fault-forgiving light, for it was standing in the\nreign of Elizabeth, and, from its appearance, it is probably centuries\nolder.\n\nThe new road to Reeth from Richmond goes down at an easy gradient from\nthe town to the banks of the river, which it crosses when abreast of\nWhitcliffe Scar, the view in front being at first much the same as the\nnearer portions of the dale seen from that height. Down on the left,\nhowever, there are some chimney-shafts, so recklessly black that they\nseem to be no part whatever of their sumptuous natural surroundings,\nand might almost suggest a nightmare in which one discovered that some\nof the vilest chimneys of the Black Country had taken to touring in the\nbeauty spots of the country.\n\nAs one goes westward, the road penetrates right into the bold scenery\nthat invites exploration when viewed from 'Willance's Leap.' There is a\nScottish feeling--perhaps Alpine would be more correct--in the\nsteeply-falling sides of the dale, all clothed in firs and other dense\nplantations; and just where the Swale takes a decided turn towards the\nsouth there is a view up Marske Beck that adds much to the romance of\nthe scene. Behind one's back the side of the dale rises like a dark\ngreen wall entirely in shadow, and down below half buried in foliage,\nthe river swirls and laps its gravelly beaches, also in shadow. Beyond\na strip of pasture begin the tumbled masses of trees which, as they\nclimb out of the depths of the valley, reach the warm, level rays of\nsunlight that turns the first leaves that have passed their prime into\nthe fierce yellows and burnt siennas which, when faithfully represented\nat Burlington House, are often considered overdone. Even the gaunt\nobelisk near Marske Hall responds to a fine sunset of this sort, and\nshows a gilded side that gives it almost a touch of grandeur.\n\nEvening is by no means necessary to the attractions of Swaledale, for a\nblazing noon gives lights and shades and contrasts of colour that are a\nlarge portion of Swaledale's charms. If instead of taking either the\nold road by way of Marske, or the new one by the riverside, one had\ncrossed the old bridge below the castle, and left Richmond by a very\nsteep road that goes to Leyburn, one would have reached a moorland that\nis at its best in the full light of a clear morning.\n\nThe clouds are big, but they carry no threat of rain, for right down to\nthe far horizon from whence this wind is coming there are patches of\nblue proportionate to the vast spaces overhead. As each white mass\npasses across the sun, we are immersed in a shadow many acres in\nextent: but the sunlight has scarcely fled when a rim of light comes\nover the edge of the plain, just above the hollow where Downholme\nvillage lies hidden from sight, and in a few minutes that belt of\nsunshine has reached some sheep not far off, and rimmed their coats\nwith a brilliant edge of white. Shafts of whiteness, like searchlights,\nstream from behind a distant cloud, and everywhere there is brilliant\ncontrast and a purity to the eye and lungs that only a Yorkshire moor\npossesses.\n\nA short two miles up the road to Leyburn, just above Gill Beck, there\nis an ancient house known as Walburn Hall, and also the remains of the\nchapel belonging to it, which dates from the Perpendicular period. The\nbuildings are now used as a farm, but there are still enough\nsuggestions of a dignified past to revivify the times when this was a\ncentre of feudal power.\n\nTurning back to Swaledale by a lane on the south side of Gill Beck,\nDownholme village is passed a mile away on the right, and the bold\nscenery of the dale once more becomes impressive.\n\nTwo great headlands, formed by the wall-like terminations of Cogden and\nHarkerside Moors, rising one above the other, stand out magnificently.\nTheir huge sides tower up nearly a thousand feet from the river, until\nthey are within reach of the lowering clouds that every moment threaten\nto envelop them in their indigo embrace. There is a curious rift in the\ndark cumulus revealing a thin line of dull carmine that frequently\nchanges its shape and becomes nearly obliterated, but its presence in\nno way weakens the awesomeness of the picture. The dale appears to\nbecome huger and steeper as the clouds thicken, and what have been\nmerely woods and plantations in this heavy gloom become mysterious\nforests. The river, too, seems to change its character, and become a\npale serpent, uncoiling itself from some mountain fastness where no\nliving creatures besides great auks and carrion birds, dwell.\n\nIn such surroundings as these there were established in the Middle\nAges, two religious houses, within a mile of one another, on opposite\nsides of the swirling river. On the north bank, not far from Marrick\nvillage, you may still see the ruins of Marrick Priory in its beautiful\nsituation much as Turner painted it a century ago. Leland describes\nMarrick as 'a Priory of Blake Nunnes of the Foundation of the Askes.'\nIt was, we know, an establishment for Benedictine Nuns, founded or\nendowed by Roger de Aske in the twelfth century. At Ellerton, on the\nother side of the river a little lower down, the nunnery was of the\nCistercian Order; for, although very little of its history has been\ndiscovered, Leland writes of the house as 'a Priori of White clothid\nNunnes.' After the Battle of Bannockburn, when the Scots raided all\nover the North Riding of Yorkshire, they came along Swaledale in search\nof plunder, and we are told that Ellerton suffered from their violence.\n\nWhere the dale becomes wider, owing to the branch valley of\nArkengarthdale, there are two villages close together. Grinton is\nreached first, and is older than Reeth, which is a short distance north\nof the river. The parish of Grinton is one of the largest in Yorkshire.\nIt is more than twenty miles long, containing something near 50,000\nacres, and according to Mr. Speight, who has written a very detailed\nhistory of Richmondshire, more than 30,000 acres of this consist of\nmountain, grouse-moor and scar. For so huge a parish the church is\nsuitable in size, but in the upper portions of the dales one must not\nexpect any very remarkable exteriors; and Grinton, with its low roofs\nand plain battlemented tower, is much like other churches in the\nneighbourhood. Inside there are suggestions of a Norman building that\nhas passed away, and the bowl of the font seems also to belong to that\nperiod. The two chapels opening from the chancel contain some\ninteresting features, which include a hagioscope, and both are enclosed\nby old screens.\n\nLeaving the village behind, and crossing the Swale, you soon come to\nReeth, which may, perhaps, be described as a little town. It must have\nthrived with the lead-mines in Arkengarthdale and along the Swale, for\nit has gone back since the period of its former prosperity, and is glad\nof the fact that its situation, and the cheerful green which the houses\nlook upon, have made it something of a holiday resort.\n\nWhen Reeth is left behind, there is no more of the fine 'new' road\nwhich makes travelling so easy for the eleven miles from Richmond. The\nsurface is, however, by no means rough along the nine miles to Muker,\nalthough the scenery becomes far wilder and more mountainous with every\nmile. The dale narrows most perceptibly; the woods become widely\nseparated, and almost entirely disappear on the southern side; and the\ngaunt moors, creeping down the sides of the valley seem to threaten the\nnarrow belt of cultivation, that becomes increasingly restricted to the\nriver margins. Precipitous limestone scars fringe the browny-green\nheights in many places, and almost girdle the summit of Calver Hill,\nthe great bare height that rises a thousand feet above Reeth. The farms\nand hamlets of these upper parts of Swaledale are of the same greys,\ngreens, and browns as the moors and scars that surround them. The stone\nwalls, that are often high and forbidding, seem to suggest the\nfortifications required for man's fight with Nature, in which there is\nno encouragement for the weak. In the splendid weather that so often\nwelcomes the mere summer rambler in the upper dales the austerity of\nthe widely scattered farms and villages may seem a little\nunaccountable; but a visit in January would quite remove this\nimpression, though even in these lofty parts of England the worst\nwinter snowstorm has, in quite recent years, been of trifling\ninconvenience. Bad winters will, no doubt, be experienced again on the\nfells; but leaving out of the account the snow that used to bury farms,\nflocks, roads, and even the smaller gills, in a vast smother of\nwhiteness, there are still the winds that go shrieking over the\ndesolate heights, there is still the high rainfall, and there are still\ndestructive thunderstorms that bring with them hail of a size that we\nseldom encounter in the lower levels.\n\nThe great rapidity with which the Swale, or such streams as the Arkle,\ncan produce a devastating flood can scarcely be comprehended by those\nwho have not seen the results of even moderate rainstorms on the fells.\nWhen, however, some really wet days have been experienced in the upper\nparts of the dales, it seems a wonder that the bridges are not more\noften in jeopardy.\n\nOf course, even the highest hills of Yorkshire are surpassed in wetness\nby their Lakeland neighbours; for whereas Hawes Junction, which is only\nabout seven miles south of Muker, has an average yearly rainfall of\nabout 62 inches, Mickleden, in Westmorland, can show 137, and certain\nspots in Cumberland aspire towards 200 inches in a year.\n\nThe weather conditions being so severe, it is not surprising to find\nthat no corn at all is grown in Swaledale at the present day. Some\nnotes, found in an old family Bible in Teesdale, are quoted by Mr.\nJoseph Morris. They show the painful difficulties experienced in the\neighteenth century from such entries as: '1782. I reaped oats for John\nHutchinson, when the field was covered with snow,' and: '1799, Nov. 10.\nMuch corn to cut and carry. A hard frost.'\n\nMuker, notwithstanding all these climatic difficulties, has some claim\nto picturesqueness, despite the fact that its church is better seen at\na distance, for a close inspection reveals its rather poverty-stricken\nstate. The square tower, so typical of the dales, stands well above the\nweathered roofs of the village, and there are sufficient trees to tone\ndown the severities of the stone walls, that are inclined to make one\nhouse much like its neighbour, and but for natural surroundings would\nreduce the hamlets to the same uniformity. At Muker, however, there is\na steep bridge and a rushing mountain stream that joins the Swale just\nbelow. The road keeps close to this beck, and the houses are thus\nrestricted to one side of the way.\n\nAway to the south, in the direction of the Buttertubs Pass, is Stags\nFell, 2,213 feet above the sea, and something like 1,300 feet above\nMuker. Northwards, and towering over the village, is the isolated mass\nof Kisdon Hill, on two sides of which the Swale, now a mountain stream,\nrushes and boils among boulders and ledges of rock. This is one of the\nfinest portions of the dale, and, although the road leaves the river\nand passes round the western side of Kisdon, there is a path that goes\nthrough the glen, and brings one to the road again at Keld.\n\nJust before you reach Keld, the Swale drops 30 feet at Kisdon Force,\nand after a night of rain there are many other waterfalls to be seen in\nthis district. These are not to me, however, the chief attractions of\nthe head of Swaledale, although without the angry waters the gills and\nnarrow ravines that open from the dale would lose much interest. It is\nthe stern grandeur of the scarred hillsides and the wide mountainous\nviews from the heights that give this part of Yorkshire such a\nfascination. If you climb to the top of Rogan's Seat, you have a huge\npanorama of desolate country spread out before you. The confused jumble\nof blue-grey mountains to the north-west is beyond the limits of\nYorkshire at last, and in their strong embrace those stern Westmorland\nhills hold the charms of Lakeland.\n\nIf one stays in this mountainous region, there are new and exciting\nwalks available for every day. There are gloomy recesses in the\nhillsides that encourage exploration from the knowledge that they are\nnot tripper-worn, and there are endless heights to be climbed that are\nequally free from the smallest traces of desecrating mankind. Rare\nflowers, ferns, and mosses flourish in these inaccessible solitudes,\nand will continue to do so, on account of the dangers that lurk in\ntheir fastnesses, and also from the fact that their value is nothing to\nany but those who are glad to leave them growing where they are.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nWENSLEYDALE\n\n\nThe approach from Muker to the upper part of Wensleydale is by a\nmountain road that can claim a grandeur which, to those who have never\nexplored the dales, might almost seem impossible. I have called it a\nroad, but it is, perhaps, questionable whether this is not too\nhigh-sounding a term for a track so invariably covered with large loose\nstones and furrowed with water-courses. At its highest point the road\ngoes through the Buttertubs Pass, taking the traveller to the edge of\nthe pot-holes that have given their name to this thrilling way through\nthe mountain ridge dividing the Swale from the Ure.\n\nSuch a lonely and dangerous road should no doubt be avoided at night,\nbut yet I am always grateful for the delays which made me so late that\ndarkness came on when I was at the highest portion of the pass. It was\nlate in September, and it was the day of the feast at Hawes, which had\ndrawn to that small town farmers and their wives, and most, if not all,\nthe young men and maidens within a considerable radius. I made my way\nslowly up the long ascent from Muker, stumbling frequently on the loose\nstones and in the water-worn runnels that were scarcely visible in the\ndim twilight. The huge, bare shoulders of the fells began to close in\nmore and more as I climbed. Towards the west lay Great Shunnor Fell,\nits vast brown-green mass being sharply defined against the clear\nevening sky; while further away to the north-west there were blue\nmountains going to sleep in the soft mistiness of the distance. Then\nthe road made a sudden zig-zag, but went on climbing more steeply than\never, until at last I found that the stony track had brought me to the\nverge of a precipice. There was not sufficient light to see what\ndangers lay beneath me, but I could hear the angry sound of a beck\nfalling upon quantities of bare rocks. If one does not keep to the\nroad, there is on the other side the still greater menace of the\nButtertubs, the dangers of which are too well known to require any\nemphasis of mine. Those pot-holes which have been explored with much\nlabour, and the use of winches and tackle and a great deal of stout\nrope, have revealed in their cavernous depths the bones of sheep that\ndisappeared from flocks which have long since become mutton. This road\nis surely one that would have afforded wonderful illustrations to the\n'Pilgrim's Progress,' for the track is steep and narrow and painfully\nrough; dangers lie on either side, and safety can only be found by\nkeeping in the middle of the road.\n\nWhat must have been the thoughts, I wonder, of the dalesmen who on\ndifferent occasions had to go over the pass at night in those still\nrecent times when wraithes and hobs were terrible realities? In the\nparts of Yorkshire where any records of the apparitions that used to\nenliven the dark nights have been kept, I find that these awesome\ncreatures were to be found on every moor, and perhaps some day in my\nreading I shall discover an account of those that haunted this pass.\n\nAlthough there are probably few who care for rough moorland roads at\nnight, the Buttertubs Pass in daylight is still a memorable place. The\npot-holes can then be safely approached, and one can peer into the\nblackness below until the eyes become adapted to the gloom. Then one\nsees the wet walls of limestone and the curiously-formed isolated\npieces of rock that almost suggest columnar basalt. In crevices far\ndown delicate ferns are growing in the darkness. They shiver as the\ncool water drips upon them from above, and the drops they throw off\nfall down lower still into a stream of underground water that has its\nbeginnings no man knows where. On a hot day it is cooling simply to\ngaze into the Buttertubs, and the sound of the falling waters down in\nthese shadowy places is pleasant after gazing on the dry fell-sides.\n\nJust beyond the head of the pass, where the descent to Hawes begins,\nthe shoulders of Great Shunnor Fell drop down, so that not only\nstraight ahead, but also westwards, one can see a splendid mountain\nview. Ingleborough's flat top is conspicuous in the south, and in every\ndirection there are indications of the geology of the fells. The hard\nstratum of millstone grit that rests upon the limestone gives many of\nthe summits of the hills their level character, and forms the\nsharply-defined scars that encircle them. The sudden and violent\nchanges of weather that take place among these watersheds would almost\nseem to be cause enough to explain the wearing down of the angularities\nof the heights. Even while we stand on the bridge at Hawes we can see\nthree or four ragged cloud edges letting down on as many places\ntorrential rains, while in between there are intervals of blazing\nsunshine, under which the green fells turn bright yellow and orange in\npowerful contrast to the indigo shadows on every side. Such rapid\nchanges from complete saturation to sudden heat are trying to the\nhardest rocks, and at Hardraw, close at hand, there is a still more\npalpable process of denudation in active operation.\n\nSuch a morning as this is quite ideal for seeing the remarkable\nwaterfall known as Hardraw Scar or Force. The footpath that leads up\nthe glen leaves the road at the side of the 'Green Dragon' at Hardraw,\nwhere the innkeeper hands us a key to open the gate we must pass\nthrough. Being September, and an uncertain day for weather, we have the\nwhole glen to ourselves, until behind some rocks we discover a solitary\nangler. There is nothing but the roughest of tracks to follow, for the\ncarefully-made pathway that used to go right up to the fall was swept\naway half a dozen years ago, when the stream in a fierce mood cleared\nits course of any traces of artificiality. We are deeply grateful, and\nmake our among the big rocks and across the slippery surfaces of shale,\nwith the roar of the waters becoming more and more insistent. The sun\nhas turned into the ravine a great searchlight that has lit up the rock\nwalls and strewn the wet grass beneath with sparkling jewels. On the\nopposite side there is a dense blue shadow over everything except the\nfoliage on the brow of the cliffs, where the strong autumn colours leap\ninto a flaming glory that transforms the ravine into an astonishing\nsplendour. A little more careful scrambling by the side of the stream,\nand we see a white band of water falling from the overhanging limestone\ninto the pool about ninety feet below. Off the surface of the water\ndrifts a mist of spray, in which a soft patch of rainbow hovers until\nthe sun withdraws itself for a time and leaves a sudden gloom in the\nhorseshoe of overhanging cliffs. The place is, perhaps, more in\nsympathy with a cloudy sky, but, under sunshine or cloud, the spout of\nwater is a memorable sight, and its imposing height places Hardraw\namong the small group of England's finest waterfalls. The mass of shale\nthat lies beneath this stratum is soft enough to be worked away by the\nwater until the limestone overhangs the pool to the extent of ten or\ntwelve feet, so that the water falls sheer into the circular basin,\nleaving a space between the cliff and the fall where it is safe to walk\non a rather moist and slippery path that is constantly being sprayed\nfrom the surface of the pool.\n\nJohn Leland wrote, nearly four hundred years ago, '_Uredale_ veri\nlitle Corne except Bygg or Otes, but plentiful of Gresse in Communes,'\nand although this dale is so much more genial in aspect, and so much\nwider than the valley of the Swale, yet crops are under the same\ndisabilities. Leaving Gayle behind, we climb up a steep and stony road\nabove the beck until we are soon above the level of green pasturage.\nThe stone walls still cover the hillsides with a net of very large\nmesh, but the sheep find more bent than grass, and the ground is often\nexceedingly steep. Higher still climbs this venturesome road, until all\naround us is a vast tumble of gaunt brown fells, divided by ravines\nwhose sides are scarred with runnels of water, which have exposed the\nrocks and left miniature screes down below. At a height of nearly 1,600\nfeet there is a gate, where we will turn away from the road that goes\non past Dodd Fell into Langstrothdale, and instead climb a smooth grass\ntrack sprinkled with half-buried rocks until we have reached the summit\nof Wether Fell, 400 feet higher. There is a scanty growth of ling upon\nthe top of this height, but the hills that lie about on every side are\nbrowny-green or of an ochre colour, and there is little of the purple\none sees in the Cleveland Hills.\n\nThe cultivated level of Wensleydale is quite hidden from view, so that\nwe look over a vast panorama of mountains extending in the west as far\nas the blue fells of Lakeland. I have painted the westward view from\nthis very summit, so that any written description is hardly needed; but\nbehind us, as we face the scene illustrated here, there is a wonderful\nexpanse that includes the heights of Addlebrough, Stake Fell, and\nPenhill Beacon, which stand out boldly on the southern side of\nWensleydale. I have seen these hills lightly covered with snow, but\nthat can give scarcely the smallest suggestion of the scene that was\nwitnessed after the remarkable snowstorm of January, 1895, which\nblocked the roads between Wensleydale and Swaledale until nearly the\nmiddle of March. Roads were dug out, with walls of snow on either side\nfrom 10 to 15 feet in height, but the wind and fresh falls almost\nobliterated the passages soon after they had been cut. In\nLandstrothdale Mr. Speight tells of the extraordinary difficulties of\nthe dalesfolk in the farms and cottages, who were faced with starvation\nowing to the difficulty of getting in provisions. They cut ways through\nthe drifts as high as themselves in the direction of the likeliest\nplaces to obtain food, while in Swaledale they built sledges.\n\nWhen we have left the highest part of Wether Fell, we find the track\ntaking a perfectly straight line between stone walls. The straightness\nis so unusual that there can be little doubt that it is a survival of\none of the Roman ways connecting their station on Brough Hill, just\nabove the village of Bainbridge, with some place to the south-west. The\ntrack goes right over Cam Fell, and is known as the Old Cam Road, but I\ncannot recommend it for any but pedestrians. When we have descended\nonly a short distance, there is a sudden view of Semmerwater, the only\npiece of water in Yorkshire that really deserves to be called a lake.\nIt is a pleasant surprise to discover this placid patch of blue lying\namong the hills, and partially hidden by a fellside in such a way that\nits area might be far greater than 105 acres.\n\nThose who know Turner's painting of this lake would be disappointed, no\ndoubt, if they saw it first from this height. The picture was made at\nthe edge of the water with the Carlow Stone in the foreground, and over\nthe mountains on the southern shore appears a sky that would make the\ndullest potato-field thrilling.\n\nA short distance lower down, by straying a little from the road, we get\na really imposing view of Bardale, into which the ground falls suddenly\nfrom our very feet. Sheep scamper nimbly down their convenient little\ntracks, but there are places where water that overflows from the pools\namong the bent and ling has made blue-grey seams and wrinkles in the\nsteep places that give no foothold even to the toughest sheep.\n\nWe lose sight of Semmerwater behind the ridge that forms one side of\nthe branch dale in which it lies, but in exchange we get beautiful\nviews of the sweeping contours of Wensleydale. High upon the further\nside of the valley Askrigg's gray roofs and pretty church stand out\nagainst a steep fellside; further down we can see Nappa Hall,\nsurrounded by trees, just above the winding river, and Bainbridge lies\nclose at hand. We soon come to the broad and cheerful green, surrounded\nby a picturesque scattering of old but well preserved cottages; for\nBainbridge has sufficient charms to make it a pleasant inland resort\nfor holiday times that is quite ideal for those who are content to\nabandon the sea. The overflow from Semmerwater, which is called the\nBam, fills the village with its music as it falls over ledges or rock\nin many cascades along one side of the green.\n\nThere is a steep bridge, which is conveniently placed for watching the\nwaterfalls; there are white geese always drilling on the grass, and\nthere are still to be seen the upright stones of the stocks. The pretty\ninn called the 'Rose and Crown,' overlooking a corner of the green\nstates upon a board that it was established in 1445.\n\nA horn-blowing custom has been preserved at Bainbridge. It takes place\nat ten o'clock every night between Holy Rood (September 27) and\nShrovetide, but somehow the reason for the observance has been\nforgotten. The medieval regulations as to the carrying of horns by\nforesters and those who passed through forests would undoubtedly\nassociate the custom with early times, and this happy old village\ncertainly gains our respect for having preserved anything from such a\nremote period. When we reach Bolton Castle we shall find in the museum\nthere an old horn from Bainbridge.\n\nBesides having the length and breadth of Wensleydale to explore with or\nwithout the assistance of the railway, Bainbridge has as its particular\npossession the valley containing Semmerwater, with the three romantic\ndales at its head. Counterside, a hamlet perched a little above the\nlake, has an old hall, where George Fox stayed in 1677 as a guest of\nRichard Robinson. The inn bears the date 1667 and the initials\n'B.H.J.,' which may be those of one of the Jacksons, who were Quakers\nat that time.\n\nOn the other side of the river, and scarcely more than a mile from\nBainbridge, is the little town of Askrigg, which supplies its neighbour\nwith a church and a railway-station. There is a charm in its breezy\nsituation that is ever present, for even when we are in the narrow\nlittle street that curves steeply up the hill there are quite\nexhilarating peeps of the dale. We can see Wether Fell, with the road\nwe traversed yesterday plainly marked on the slopes, and down below,\nwhere the Ure takes its way through bright pastures, there is a mist of\nsmoke ascending from Hawes. Blocking up the head of the dale are the\nspurs of Dodd and Widdale Fells, while beyond them appears the blue\nsummit of Bow Fell. We find it hard to keep our eyes away from the\ndistant mountains, which fascinate one by appearing to have an\nimportance that is perhaps diminished when they are close at hand.\n\nWe find ourselves halting on a patch of grass by the restored\nmarket-cross to look more closely at a fine old house overlooking the\nthree-sided space. There is no doubt as to the date of the building,\nfor a plain inscription begins 'Gulielmus Thornton posuit hanc domum\nMDCLXXVIII.' The bay windows have heavy mullions and there is a dignity\nabout the house which must have been still more apparent when the\nsurrounding houses were lower than at present. The wooden gallery that\nis constructed between the bays was, it is said, built as a convenient\nplace for watching the bull-fights that took place just below. In the\ngrass there can still be seen the stone to which the bull-ring was\nsecured. The churchyard runs along the west side of the little\nmarket-place, so that there is an open view on that side, made\ninteresting by the Perpendicular church.\n\nThe simple square tower and the unbroken roof-lines are battlemented,\nlike so many of the churches of the dales; inside we find Norman\npillars that are quite in strange company, if it is true that they were\nbrought from the site of Fors Abbey, a little to the west of the town.\n\nWensleydale generally used to be famed for its hand-knitting, but I\nthink Askrigg must have turned out more work than any place in the\nvalley, for the men as well as the womenfolk were equally skilled in\nthis employment, and Mr. Whaley says they did their work in the open\nair 'while gossiping with their neighbours.' This statement is,\nnevertheless, exceeded by what appears in a volume entitled 'The\nCostume of Yorkshire.' In that work of 1814, which contains a number of\nGeorge Walker's quaint drawings, reproduced by lithography, we find a\npicture having a strong suggestion of Askrigg in which there is a\ngroup of old and young of both sexes seated on the steps of the\nmarket-cross, all knitting, and a little way off a shepherd is seen\ndriving some sheep through a gate, and he also is knitting.\n\nFrom Askrigg there is a road that climbs up from the end of the little\nstreet at a gradient that looks like 1 in 4, but it is really less\nformidable. Considering its steepness the surface is quite good, but\nthat is due to the industry of a certain road-mender with whom I once\nhad the privilege to talk when, hot and breathless, I paused to enjoy\nthe great expanse that lay to the south. He was a fine Saxon type, with\na sunburnt face and equally brown arms. Road-making had been his ideal\nwhen he was a mere boy, and since he had obtained his desire he told me\nthat he couldn't be happier if he were the King of England. The\npicturesque road where we leave him, breaking every large stone he can\nfind, goes on across a belt of brown moor, and then drops down between\ngaunt scars that only just leave space for the winding track to pass\nthrough. It afterwards descends rapidly by the side of a gill, and thus\nenters Swaledale.\n\nThere is a beautiful walk from Askrigg to Mill Gill Force. The distance\nis scarcely more than half a mile across sloping pastures and through\nthe curious stiles that appear in the stone walls. So dense is the\ngrowth of trees in the little ravine that one hears the sound of the\nwaters close at hand without seeing anything but the profusion of\nfoliage overhanging and growing among the rocks. After climbing down\namong the moist ferns and moss-grown stones, the gushing cascades\nappear suddenly set in a frame of such lavish beauty that they hold a\nhigh place among their rivals in the dale.\n\nKeeping to the north side of the river, we come to Nappa Hall at a\ndistance of a little over a mile to the east of Askrigg. It is now a\nfarmhouse, but its two battlemented towers proclaim its former\nimportance as the chief seat of the family of Metcalfe. The date of the\nhouse is about 1459, and the walls of the western tower are 4 feet in\nthickness. The Nappa lands came to James Metcalfe from Sir Richard\nScrope of Bolton Castle shortly after his return to England from the\nfield of Agincourt, and it was probably this James Metcalfe who built\nthe existing house.\n\nThe road down the dale passes Woodhall Park, and then, after going down\nclose to the Ure, it bears away again to the little village of\nCarperby. It has a triangular green surrounded by white posts. At the\neast end stands an old cross, dated 1674, and the ends of the arms are\nornamented with grotesque carved heads. The cottages have a neat and\npleasant appearance, and there is much less austerity about the place\nthan one sees higher up the dale. A branch road leads down to Aysgarth\nStation, and just where the lane takes a sharp bend to the right a\nfootpath goes across a smooth meadow to the banks of the Ure. The\nrainfall of the last few days, which showed itself at Mill Gill Force,\nat Hardraw Scar, and a dozen other falls, has been sufficient to swell\nthe main stream at Wensleydale into a considerable flood, and behind\nthe bushes that grow thickly along the riverside we can hear the steady\nroar of the cascades of Aysgarth. The waters have worn down the rocky\nbottom to such an extent that in order to stand in full view of the\nsplendid fall we must make for a gap in the foliage, and scramble down\nsome natural steps in the wall of rock forming low cliffs along each\nside of the flood. The water comes over three terraces of solid stone,\nand then sweeps across wide ledges in a tempestuous sea of waves and\nfroth, until there come other descents which alter the course of parts\nof the stream, so that as we look across the riotous flood we can see\nthe waters flowing in many opposite directions. Lines of cream-coloured\nfoam spread out into chains of bubbles which join together, and then,\nbecoming detached, again float across the smooth portions of each low\nterrace.\n\nSome footpaths bring us to Aysgarth village, which seems altogether to\ndisregard the church, for it is separated from it by a distance of\nnearly half a mile. There is one pleasant little street of old stone\nhouses irregularly disposed, many of them being quite picturesque, with\nmossy roofs and ancient chimneys. This village, like Askrigg and\nBainbridge, is ideally situated as a centre for exploring a very\nconsiderable district. There is quite a network of roads to the south,\nconnecting the villages of Thoralby and West Burton with Bishop Dale,\nand the main road through Wensleydale. Thoralby is very old, and is\nbeautifully situated under a steep hillside. It has a green overlooked\nby little grey cottages, and lower down there is a tall mill with\ncurious windows built upon Bishop Dale Beck. Close to this mill there\nnestles a long, low house of that dignified type to be seen frequently\nin the North Riding, as well as in the villages of Westmorland. The\nhuge chimney, occupying a large proportion of one gable-end, is\nsuggestive of much cosiness within, and its many shoulders, by which it\ntapers towards the top, make it an interesting feature of the house.\n\nThe dale narrows up at its highest point, but the road is enclosed\nbetween grey walls the whole of the way over the head of the valley. A\nwide view of Langstrothdale and upper Wharfedale is visible when the\nroad begins to drop downwards, and to the east Buckden Pike towers up\nto his imposing height of 2,302 feet. We shall see him again when we\nmake our way through Wharfedale but we could go back to Wensleydale by\na mountain-path that climbs up the side of Cam Gill Beck from\nStarbottom, and then, crossing the ridge between Buckden Pike and Tor\nMere Top, it goes down into the wild recesses of Waldendale. So remote\nis this valley that wild animals, long extinct in other parts of the\ndales, survived there until almost recent times.\n\nWhen we have crossed the Ure again, and taken a last look at the Upper\nFall from Aysgarth Bridge, we betake ourselves by a footpath to the\nmain highway through Wensleydale, turning aside before reaching Redmire\nin order to see the great castle of the Scropes at Bolton. It is a vast\nquadrangular mass, with each side nearly as gaunt and as lofty as the\nothers. At each corner rises a great square tower, pierced, with a few\nexceptions, by the smallest of windows. Only the base of the tower at\nthe north-east corner remains to-day, the upper part having fallen one\nstormy night in November, 1761, possibly having been weakened during\nthe siege of the castle in the Civil War. We go into the court-yard\nthrough a vaulted archway on the eastern side. Many of the rooms on the\nside facing us are in good preservation, and an apartment in the\nsouth-west tower, which has a fireplace, is pointed out as having been\nused by Mary Queen of Scots when she was imprisoned here after the\nBattle of Langside in 1568. It was the ninth Lord Scrope who had the\ncustody of the Queen, and he was assisted by Sir Francis Knollys. Mary,\nno doubt, found the time of her imprisonment irksome enough, despite\nthe magnificent views over the dale which her windows appear to have\ncommanded; but the monotony was relieved to some extent by the lessons\nin English which she received from Sir Francis, whom she describes as\nher 'good schoolmaster.' While still a prisoner, Mary addressed to him\nher first English letter, which begins: 'Master Knollys, I heve sum neus\nfrom Scotland'; and half-way through she begs that he will excuse her\nwriting, seeing that she had 'neuur vsed it afor,' and was 'hestet.'\nThe letter concludes with 'thus, affter my commendations, I prey God\nheuu you in his kipin. Your assured gud frind, MARIE R.'\n\nOn the opposite side of the steep-sided dale Penhill stands out\nprominently, with its flat summit reflecting just enough of the setting\nsun to recall a momentous occasion when from that commanding spot a\nreal beacon-fire sent up a great mass of flame and sparks. It was\nduring the time of Napoleon's threatened invasion of England, and the\nlighting of this beacon was to be the signal to the volunteers of\nWensleydale to muster and march to their rendezvous. The watchman on\nPenhill, as he sat by the piled-up brushwood, wondering, no doubt, what\nwould happen to him if the dreaded invasion were really to come about,\nsaw, far away across the Vale of Mowbray, a light which he at once took\nto be the beacon upon Roseberry Topping. A moment later tongues of\nflame and smoke were pouring from his own hilltop, and the news spread\nup the dale like wildfire. The volunteers armed themselves rapidly, and\nwith drums beating they marched away, with only such delay as was\ncaused by the hurried leave-takings with wives and mothers, and all the\nrest who crowded round. The contingent took the road to Thirsk, and on\nthe way were joined by the Mashamshire men. Whether it was with relief\nor disappointment I do not know; but when the volunteers reached Thirsk\nthey heard that they had been called out by a false alarm, for the\nlight seen in the direction of Roseberry Topping had been caused by\naccident, and the beacon on that height had not been lit.\n\nWensley stands just at the point where the dale, to which it has given\nits name, becomes so wide that it begins to lose its distinctive\ncharacter. The village is most picturesque and secluded, and it is\nsmall enough to cause some wonder as to its distinction in naming the\nvalley. It is suggested that the name is derived from _Wodenslag_,\nand that in the time of the Northmen's occupation of these parts the\nplace named after their chief god would be the most important.\n\nIn the little church standing on the south side of the green there is\nso much to interest us that we are almost unable to decide what to\nexamine first, until, realizing that we are brought face to face with a\nbeautiful relic of Easby Abbey, we turn our attention to the parclose\nscreen. It surrounds the family pew of Bolton Hall, and on three sides\nwe see the Perpendicular woodwork fitted into the east end of the north\naisle. The side that fronts the nave has an entirely different\nappearance, being painted and of a classic order, very lacking in any\necclesiastical flavour, an impression not lost on those who, with every\nexcuse, called it 'the opera box.' In the panels of the early part of\nthe screen are carved inscriptions and arms of the Scropes covering a\nlong period, and, though many words and letters are missing, it is\npossible to make them more complete with the help of the record made by\nthe heralds in 1665.\n\nA charming lane, overhung by big trees, runs above the river-banks for\nnearly two miles of the way to Middleham; then it joins the road from\nLeyburn, and crosses the Ure by a suspension bridge, defended by two\nvery formidable though modern archways. Climbing up past the church, we\nenter the cobbled market-place, which wears a rather decayed appearance\nin sympathy with the departed magnificence of the great castle of the\nNevilles. It commands a vast view of Wensleydale from the southern\nside, in much the same manner as Bolton does from the north; but the\ncastle buildings are entirely different, for Middleham consists of a\nsquare Norman keep, very massive and lofty, surrounded at a short\ndistance by a strong wall and other buildings, also of considerable\nheight, built in the Decorated period, when the Nevilles were in\npossession of the stronghold. The Norman keep dates from the year 1190,\nwhen Robert Fitz Randolph, grandson of Ribald, a brother of the Earl of\nRichmond, began to build the Castle.\n\nIt was, however, in later times, when Middleham had come to the\nNevilles by marriage, that really notable events took place in this\nfortress. It was here that Warwick, the 'King-maker,' held Edward IV.\nprisoner in 1467, and in Part III. of the play of 'King Henry VI.,'\nScene V. of the fourth act is laid in a park near Middleham Castle.\nRichard III.'s only son, Edward Prince of Wales, was born here in 1467,\nthe property having come into Richard's possession by his marriage with\nAnne Neville.\n\nWe have already seen Leyburn Shawl from near Wensley, but its charm can\nonly be appreciated by seeing the view up the dale from its\nlarch-crowned termination. Perhaps if we had seen nothing of\nWensleydale, and the wonderful views it offers, we should be more\ninclined to regard this somewhat popular spot with greater veneration;\nbut after having explored both sides of the dale, and seen many views\nof a very similar character, we cannot help thinking that the vista is\nsomewhat overrated. Leyburn itself is a cheerful little town, with a\nmodern church and a very wide main street which forms a most extensive\nmarket-place. There is a bull-ring still visible in the great open\nspace, but beyond this and the view from the Shawl Leyburn has few\nattractions, except its position as a centre or a starting-place from\nwhich to explore the romantic neighbourhood.\n\nAs we leave Leyburn we get a most beautiful view up Coverdale, with the\ntwo Whernsides standing out most conspicuously at the head of the\nvalley, and it is this last view of Coverdale, and the great valley\nfrom which it branches, that remains in the mind as one of the finest\npictures of this most remarkable portion of Yorkshire.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nRIPON AND FOUNTAINS ABBEY\n\n\nWe have come out of Wensleydale past the ruins of the great Cistercian\nabbey of Jervaulx, which Conan, Earl of Richmond, moved from Askrigg to\na kindlier climate, and we have passed through the quiet little town of\nMasham, famous for its fair in September, when sometimes as many as\n70,000 sheep, including great numbers of the fine Wensleydale breed,\nare sold, and now we are at Ripon. It is the largest town we have seen\nsince we lost sight of Richmond in the wooded recesses of Swaledale,\nand though we are still close to the Ure, we are on the very edge of\nthe dale country, and miss the fells that lie a little to the west. The\nevening has settled down to steady rain, and the market-place is\nrunning with water that reflects the lights in the shop-windows and\nthe dark outline of the obelisk in the centre. This erection is\nsuspiciously called 'the Cross,' and it made its appearance nearly\nseventy years before the one at Richmond. Gent says it cost L564 11s.\n9d., and that it is 'one of the finest in England.' I could, no doubt,\nwith the smallest trouble discover a description of the real cross it\nsupplanted, but if it were anything half as fine as the one at\nRichmond, I should merely be moved to say harsh things of John\nAislabie, who was Mayor in 1702, when the obelisk was erected, and\ntherefore I will leave the matter to others. It is, perhaps, an\nun-Christian occupation to go about the country quarrelling with the\ndeeds of recent generations, though I am always grateful for any traces\nof the centuries that have gone which have been allowed to survive.\nWith this thought still before me, I am startled by a long-drawn-out\nblast on a horn, and, looking out of my window, which commands the\nwhole of the market-place, I can see beneath the light of a lamp an\nold-fashioned figure wearing a three-cornered hat. When the last\nquavering note has come from the great circular horn, the man walks\nslowly across the wet cobble-stones to the obelisk, where I watch him\nwind another blast just like the first, and then another, and then a\nthird, immediately after which he walks briskly away and disappears\ndown a turning. In the light of morning I discover that the horn was\nblown in front of the Town Hall, whose stucco front bears the\ninscription: 'Except ye Lord keep ye cittie, ye Wakeman waketh in\nvain.' The antique spelling is, of course, unable to give a wrong\nimpression as to the age of the building, for it shows its period so\nplainly that one scarcely needs to be told that it was built in 1801,\nalthough it could not so easily be attributed to the notorious Wyatt.\nNotwithstanding much reconstruction there are still a few quaint houses\nto be seen in Ripon, and there clings to the streets a certain flavour\nof antiquity. It is the minster, nevertheless, that raises the 'city'\nabove the average Yorkshire town. The west front, with its twin towers,\nis to some extent the most memorable portion of the great church. It is\nthe work of Archbishop Walter Gray, and is a most beautiful example of\nthe pure Early English style. Inside there is a good deal of\ntransitional Norman work to be seen. The central tower was built in\nthis period, but now presents a most remarkable appearance, owing to\nits partial reconstruction in Perpendicular times, the arch that faces\nthe nave having the southern pier higher than the Norman one, and in\nthe later style, so that the arch is lop-sided. As a building in which\nto study the growth of English Gothic architecture, I can scarcely\nthink it possible to find anything better, all the periods being very\nclearly represented. The choir has much sumptuous carved woodwork, and\nthe misereres are full of quaint detail. In the library there is a\ncollection of very early printed books and other relics of the minster\nthat add very greatly to the interest of the place.\n\nThe monument to Hugh Ripley, who was the last Wakeman of Ripon and\nfirst Mayor in 1604, is on the north side of the nave facing the\nentrance to the crypt, popularly called 'St. Wilfrid's Needle.' A\nrather difficult flight of steps goes down to a narrow passage leading\ninto a cylindrically vaulted cell with niches in the walls. At the\nnorth-east corner is the curious slit or 'Needle' that has been thought\nto have been used for purposes of trial by ordeal, the innocent person\nbeing able to squeeze through the narrow opening.\n\nIn reality it is probably nothing more than an arrangement for lighting\ntwo cells with one lamp. The crypt is of such a plainly Roman type, and\nis so similar to the one at Hexham, that it is generally accepted as\ndating from the early days of Christianity in Yorkshire, and there can\nbe little doubt that it is a relic of Wilfrid's church in those early\ntimes.\n\nAt a very convenient distance from Ripon, and approached by a pleasant\nlane, are the lovely glades of Studley Royal, the noble park containing\nthe ruins of Fountains Abbey. Below the well-kept pathway runs the\nSkell, but so transformed from its early character that you would\nimagine the pathways wind round the densely-wooded slopes, and give a\ndozen different views of each mass of trees, each temple, and each bend\nof the river. At last, from a considerable height, you have the lovely\nview of the abbey ruins illustrated here. At every season its charm is\nunmistakable, and even if no stately tower and no roofless arches\nfilled the centre of the prospect, the scene would be almost as\nmemorable. It is only one of the many pictures in the park that a\nretentive memory will hold as some of the most remarkable in England.\n\nAmong the ruins the turf is kept in perfect order, and it is pleasant\nmerely to look upon the contrast of the green carpet that is so evenly\nlaid between the dark stonework. The late-Norman nave, with its solemn\ndouble line of round columns, the extremely graceful arches of the\nChapel of the Nine Altars, and the magnificent vaulted perspective of\nthe dark cellarium of the lay-brothers, are perhaps the most\nfascinating portions of the buildings. I might be well compared with\nthe last abbot but one, William Thirsk, who resigned his post,\nforseeing the coming Dissolution, and was therefore called 'a varra\nfole and a misereble ideote,' if I attempted in the short space\navailable to give any detailed account of the abbey or its wonderful\npast. I have perhaps said enough to insist on its charms, and I know\nthat all who endorse my statements will, after seeing Fountains, read\nwith delight the books that are devoted to its story.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nKNARESBOROUGH AND HARROGATE\n\n\nIt is sometimes said that Knaresborough is an overrated town from the\npoint of view of its attractiveness to visitors, but this depends very\nmuch upon what we hope to find there. If we expect to find lasting\npleasure in contemplating the Dropping Well, or the pathetic little\nexhibition of petrified objects in the Mother Shipton Inn, we may be\nprepared for disappointment. It seems strange that the real and lasting\ncharms of the town should be overshadowed by such popular and\nmuch-advertised 'sights.' The first view of the town from the 'high'\nbridge is so full of romance that if there were nothing else to\ninterest us in the place we would scarcely be disappointed. The Nidd,\nflowing smoothly at the foot of the precipitous heights upon which the\nchurch and the old roofs appear, is spanned by a great stone viaduct.\nThis might have been so great a blot upon the scene that Knaresborough\nwould have lost half its charm. Strangely enough, we find just the\nreverse is the case, for this railway bridge, with its battlemented\nparapets and massive piers, is now so weathered that it has melted into\nits surroundings as though it had come into existence as long ago as\nthe oldest building visible. The old Knaresborough kept well to the\nheights adjoining the castle, and even to-day there are only a handful\nof later buildings down by the river margin.\n\nWhen we have crossed the bridge, and have passed along a narrow roadway\nperched well above the river, we come to one of the many interesting\nhouses that help to keep alive the old-world flavour of the town. Only\na few years ago the old manor-house had a most picturesque and rather\nremarkable exterior, for its plaster walls were covered with a large\nblack and white chequer-work and its overhanging eaves and tailing\ncreepers gave it a charm that has since then been quite lost. The\nrestoration which recently took place has entirely altered the\ncharacter of the exterior, but inside everything has been preserved\nwith just the care that should have been expended outside as well.\nThere are oak-wainscoted parlours, oak dressers, and richly-carved\nfireplaces in the low-ceiled rooms, each one containing furniture of\nthe period of the house. Upstairs there is a beautiful old bedroom\nlined with oak, like those on the floor below, and its interest is\ngreatly enhanced by the story of Oliver Cromwell's residence in the\nhouse, for he is believed to have used this particular bedroom.\n\nHigher up the hill stands the church with a square central tower\nsurmounted by a small spike. It still bears the marks of the fire made\nby the Scots during their disastrous descent upon Yorkshire after\nEdward II.'s defeat at Bannockburn. The chapel north of the chancel\ncontains interesting monuments of the old Yorkshire family of Slingsby.\nThe altar-tomb in the centre bears the recumbent effigies of Francis\nSlingsby, who died in 1600, and Mary his wife. Another monument shows\nSir William Slingsby, who accidentally discovered the first spring at\nHarrogate. The Slingsbys, who were cavaliers, produced a martyr in the\ncause of Charles I. This was the distinguished Sir Henry, who, in 1658,\n'being beheaded by order of the tyrant Cromwell, ... was translated to\na better place.' So says the inscription on a large slab of black\nmarble in the floor of the chapel. The last of the male line of the\nfamily was Sir Charles Slingsby, who was most unfortunately drowned by\nthe upsetting of a ferry-boat in the Ure in February, 1869.\n\nWhen we have progressed beyond the market-place, we come out upon an\nelevated grassy space upon the top of a great mass of rock whose\nperpendicular sides drop down to a bend of the Nidd. Around us are\nscattered the ruins of Knaresborough Castle--poor and of small account\nif we compare them with Richmond, although the site is very similar;\nwhere before the siege in 1644 there must have been a most imposing\nmass of towers and curtain walls. Of the great keep, only the lowest\nstory is at all complete, for above the first-floor there are only two\nsides to the tower, and these are battered and dishevelled. The walls\nenclosed about the same area as Richmond, but they are now so greatly\ndestroyed that it is not easy to gain a clear idea of their position.\nThere were no less than eleven towers, of which there now remain\nfragments of six, part of a gateway, and behind the old courthouse\nthere are evidences of a secret cell. An underground sally-port opening\ninto the moat, which was a dry one, is reached by steps leading from\nthe castle yard.\n\nThe keep is in the Decorated style, and appears to have been built in\nthe reign of Edward II. Below the ground is a vaulted dungeon, dark and\nhorrible in its hopeless strength, which is only emphasized by the tiny\nair-hole that lets in scarcely a glimmering of light, but reveals a\nthickness of 15 feet of masonry that must have made a prisoner's heart\nsick. It is generally understood that Bolingbroke spared Richard II.\nsuch confinement as this, and that when he was a prisoner in the keep\nhe occupied the large room on the floor above the kitchen. It is now a\nmere platform, with the walls running up on two sides only. The kitchen\n(sometimes called the guard-room) has a perfectly preserved roof of\nheavy groining, supported by two pillars, and it contains a collection\nof interesting objects, rather difficult to see, owing to the poor\nlight that the windows allow. There is a great deal to interest us\namong the wind-swept ruins and the views into the wooded depths of the\nNidd, and we would rather stay here and trace back the history of the\ncastle and town to the days of that Norman Serlo de Burgh, who is the\nfirst mentioned in its annals, than go down to the tripper-worn\nDropping Well and the Mother Shipton Inn.\n\nThe distance between Knaresborough and Harrogate is short, and after\npassing Starbeck we come to an extensive common known as the Stray. We\nfollow the grassy space, when it takes a sharp turn to the north, and\nare soon in the centre of the great watering-place.\n\nThere is one spot in Harrogate that has a suggestion of the early days\nof the town. It is down in the corner where the valley gardens almost\njoin the extremity of the Stray. There we find the Royal Pump Room that\nmade its appearance in early Victorian times, and its circular counter\nis still crowded every morning by a throng of water-drinkers. We wander\nthrough the hilly streets and gaze at the pretentious hotels, the\nbaths, the huge Kursaal, the hydropathic establishments, the smart\nshops, and the many churches, and then, having seen enough of the\nbuildings, we find a seat supported by green serpents, from which to\nwatch the passers-by. A white-haired and withered man, having the stamp\nof a military life in his still erect bearing, paces slowly by; then\ncome two elaborately dressed men of perhaps twenty-five. They wear\nbrown suits and patent boots, and their bowler hats are pressed down on\nthe backs of their heads. Then nursemaids with perambulators pass,\nfollowed by a lady in expensive garments, who talks volubly to her two\npretty daughters. When we have tired of the pavements and the people,\nwe bid farewell to them without much regret, being in a mood for\nsimplicity and solitude, and go away towards Wharfedale with the\npleasant tune that a band was playing still to remind us for a time of\nthe scenes we have left behind.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nWHARFEDALE\n\n\nOtley is the first place we come to in the long and beautiful valley of\nthe Wharfe. It is a busy little town where printing machinery is\nmanufactured and worsted mills appear to thrive. Immediately to the\nsouth rises the steep ridge known as the Chevin. It answers the same\npurpose as Leyburn Shawl in giving a great view over the dale; the\nelevation of over 900 feet, being much greater than the Shawl, of\ncourse commands a far more extensive panorama, and thus, in clear\nweather, York Minster appears on the eastern horizon and the Ingleton\nFells on the west.\n\nFarnley Hall, on the north side of the Wharfe, is an Elizabethan house\ndating from 1581, and it is still further of interest on account of\nTurner's frequent visits, covering a great number of years, and for the\nvery fine collection of his paintings preserved there. The\noak-panelling and coeval furniture are particularly good, and among the\nhistorical relics there is a remarkable memento of Marston Moor in the\nsword that Cromwell carried during the battle.\n\nIlkley has contrived to keep an old well-house, where the water's\npurity is its chief attraction. The church contains a thirteenth-\ncentury effigy of Sir Andrew de Middleton, and also three\npre-Norman crosses without arms. On the heights to the south of Ilkley\nis Rumbles Moor, and from the Cow and Calf rocks there is a very fine\nview.\n\nAbout six miles still further up Wharfedale, Bolton Abbey stands by a\nbend of the beautiful river. The ruins are most picturesquely placed on\nground slightly raised above the banks of the Wharfe. Of the domestic\nbuildings practically nothing remains, while the choir of the church,\nthe central tower, and north transepts are roofless and extremely\nbeautiful ruins. The nave is roofed in, and is used as a church at the\npresent time, and it is probable that services have been held in the\nbuilding practically without any interruption for 700 years. Hiding the\nEarly English west end is the lower half of a fine Perpendicular tower,\ncommenced by Richard Moone, the last Prior.\n\nThe great east window of the choir has lost its tracery, and the\nDecorated windows at the sides are in the same vacant state, with the\nexception of one. It is blocked up to half its height, like those on\nthe north side, but the flamboyant tracery of the head is perfect and\nvery graceful. Lower down there is some late-Norman interlaced arcading\nresting on carved corbels.\n\nFrom the abbey we can take our way by various beautiful paths to the\nexceedingly rich scenery of Bolton woods. Some of the reaches of the\nWharfe through this deep and heavily-timbered part of its course are\nreally enchanting, and not even the knowledge that excursion parties\nfrequently traverse the paths can rob the views of their charm. It is\nalways possible, by taking a little trouble, to choose occasions for\nseeing these beautiful but very popular places when they are unspoiled\nby the sights and sounds of holiday-makers, and in the autumn, when the\nwoods have an almost undreamed-of brilliance, the walks and drives are\ngenerally left to the birds and the rabbits. At the Strid the river,\nexcept in flood-times, is confined to a deep channel through the rocks,\nin places scarcely more than a yard in width. It is one of those spots\nthat accumulate stories and legends of the individuals who have lost\ntheir lives, or saved them, by endeavouring to leap the narrow channel.\nThat several people have been drowned here is painfully true, for the\ntemptation to try the seemingly easy but very risky jump is more than\nmany can resist.\n\nHigher up, the river is crossed by the three arches of Barden Bridge, a\nfine old structure bearing the inscription: 'This bridge was repayred\nat the charge of the whole West R ... 1676.' To the south of the bridge\nstands the picturesque Tudor house called Barden Tower, which was at\none time a keeper's lodge in the manorial forest of Wharfedale. It was\nenlarged by the tenth Lord Clifford--the 'Shepherd Lord' whose strange\nlife-story is mentioned in the next chapter in connection with\nSkipton--but having become ruinous, it was repaired in 1658 by that\nindefatigable restorer of the family castles, the Lady Anne Clifford.\n\nAt this point there is a road across the moors to Pateley Bridge, in\nNidderdale, and if we wish to explore that valley, which is now\npartially filled with a lake formed by the damming of the Nidd for\nBradford's water-supply, we must leave the Wharfe at Barden. If we keep\nto the more beautiful dale we go on through the pretty village of\nBurnsall to Grassington, where a branch railway has recently made its\nappearance from Skipton.\n\nThe dale from this point appears more and more wild, and the fells\nbecome gaunt and bare, with scars often fringing the heights on either\nside. We keep to the east side of the river, and soon after having a\ngood view up Littondale, a beautiful branch valley, we come to\nKettlewell. This tidy and cheerful village stands at the foot of Great\nWhernside, one of the twin fells that we saw overlooking the head of\nCoverdale when we were at Middleham. Its comfortable little inns make\nKettlewell a very fine centre for rambles in the wild dales that run up\ntowards the head of Wharfedale.\n\nBuckden is a small village situated at the junction of the road from\nAysgarth, and it has the beautiful scenery of Langstrothdale Chase\nstretching away to the west. About a mile higher up the dale we come to\nthe curious old church of Hubberholme standing close to the river, and\nforming a most attractive picture in conjunction with the bridge and\nthe masses of trees just beyond. At Raisgill we leave the road, which,\nif continued, would take us over the moors by Dodd Fell, and then down\nto Hawes. The track goes across Horse Head Moor, and it is so very\nslightly marked on the bent that we only follow it with difficulty. It\nis steep in places, for in a short distance it climbs up to nearly\n2,000 feet. The tawny hollows in the fell-sides, and the utter wildness\nspread all around, are more impressive when we are right away from\nanything that can even be called a path.\n\nWhen we reach the highest point before the rapid descent into\nLittondale we have another great view, with Pen-y-ghent close at hand\nand Fountains Fell more to the south.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nSKIPTON, MALHAM AND GORDALE\n\n\nWhen I think of Skipton I am never quite sure whether to look upon it\nas a manufacturing centre or as one of the picturesque market towns of\nthe dale country. If you arrive by train, you come out of the station\nupon such vast cotton-mills, and such a strong flavour of the bustling\nactivity of the southern parts of Yorkshire, that you might easily\nimagine that the capital of Craven has no part in any holiday-making\nportion of the county. But if you come by road from Bolton Abbey, you\nenter the place at a considerable height, and, passing round the margin\nof the wooded Haw Beck, you have a fine view of the castle, as well as\nthe church and the broad and not unpleasing market-place.\n\nThe fine gateway of the castle is flanked by two squat towers. They are\ncircular and battlemented, and between them upon a parapet, which is\nhigher than the towers themselves, appears the motto of the Cliffords,\n'Desormais' (hereafter), in open stone letters. Beyond the gateway\nstands a great mass of buildings with two large round towers just in\nfront; to the right, across a sloping lawn, appears the more modern and\ninhabited portion of the castle. The squat round towers gain all our\nattention, but as we pass through the doorways into the courtyard\nbeyond, we are scarcely prepared for the astonishingly beautiful\nquadrangle that awaits us. It is small, and the centre is occupied by a\ngreat yew-tree, whose tall, purply-red trunk goes up to the level of\nthe roofs without any branches or even twigs, but at that height it\nspreads out freely into a feathery canopy of dark green, covering\nalmost the whole of the square of sky visible from the courtyard. The\nbase of the trunk is surrounded by a massive stone seat, with plain\nshields on each side. The aspect of the courtyard suggests more that of\na manor-house than a castle, the windows and doorways being purely\nTudor. The circular towers and other portions of the walls belong to\nthe time of Edward II., and there is also a round-headed door that\ncannot be later than the time of Robert de Romille, one of the\nConqueror's followers. The rooms that overlook the shady quadrangle are\nvery much decayed and entirely unoccupied. They include an old\ndining-hall of much picturesqueness, kitchens, pantries, and butteries,\nsome of them only lighted by very narrow windows. The destruction\ncaused during the siege which took place during the Civil War might\nhave brought Skipton Castle to much the same condition as Knaresborough\nbut for the wealth and energy of that remarkable woman Lady Anne\nClifford, who was born here in 1589. She was the only surviving child\nof George, the third Earl of Cumberland, and grew up under the care of\nher mother, Margaret, Countess of Cumberland, of whom Lady Anne used to\nspeak as 'my blessed mother.' After her first marriage with Richard\nSackville, Earl of Dorset, Lady Anne married the profligate Philip,\nEarl of Pembroke and Montgomery. She was widowed a second time in 1649,\nand after that began the period of her munificence and usefulness. With\nimmense enthusiasm, she undertook the work of repairing the castles\nthat belonged to her family, Brougham, Appleby, Barden Tower, and\nPendragon being restored as well as Skipton.\n\nBesides attending to the decayed castles, the Countess repaired no less\nthan seven churches, and to her we owe the careful restoration of the\nparish church of Skipton. She began the repairs to the sacred building\neven before she turned her attention to the wants of the castle. In her\nprivate memorials we read how, 'In the summer of 1665 ... at her own\ncharge, she caus'd the steeple of Skipton Church to be built up againe,\nwhich was pull'd down in the time of the late Warrs, and leaded it\nover, and then repaired some part of the Church and new glaz'd the\nWindows, in ever of which Window she put quaries, stained with a yellow\ncolour, these two letters--viz., A. P., and under them the year\n1655... Besides, she raised up a noble Tomb of Black Marble in memory\nof her Warlike Father.' This magnificent altar-tomb still stands within\nthe Communion rails on the south side of the chancel. It is adorned\nwith seventeen shields, and Whitaker doubted 'whether so great an\nassemblage of noble bearings can be found on the tomb of any other\nEnglishman.' This third Earl was a notable figure in the reign of\nElizabeth, and having for a time been a great favourite with the Queen,\nhe received many of the posts of honour she loved to bestow. He was a\nskilful and daring sailor, helping to defeat the Spanish Armada, and\nbuilding at his own expense one of the greatest fighting ships of his\ntime.\n\nThe memorials of Lady Anne give a description of her appearance in the\nmanner of that time: \"The colour of her eyes was black like her\nFather's,\" we are told, \"with a peak of hair on her forehead, and a\ndimple in her chin, like her father. The hair of her head was brown and\nvery thick, and so long that it reached to the calf of her legs when\nshe stood upright.\"\n\nWe cannot leave these old towers of Skipton Castle without going back\nto the days of John, the ninth Lord Clifford, that \"Bloody Clifford\"\nwho was one of the leaders of the Lancastrians at Wakefield, where his\nmerciless slaughter earned him the title of \"the Butcher.\" He died by a\nchance arrow the night before the Battle of Towton, so fatal to the\ncause of Lancaster, and Lady Clifford and the children took refuge in\nher father's castle at Brough. For greater safety Henry, the heir, was\nplaced under the care of a shepherd whose wife had nursed the boy's\nmother when a child. In this way the future baron grew up as an\nentirely uneducated shepherd lad, spending his days on the fells in the\nprimitive fashion of the peasants of the fifteenth century. When he was\nabout twelve years old Lady Clifford, hearing rumours that the\nwhereabouts of her children had become known, sent the shepherd and his\nwife with the boy into an extremely inaccessible part of Cumberland. He\nremained there until his thirty-second year, when the Battle of\nBosworth placed Henry VII on the throne. Then the shepherd lord was\nbrought to Londesborough, and when the family estates had been\nrestored, he went back to Skipton Castle. The strangeness of his new\nlife being irksome to him, Lord Clifford spent most of his time in\nBarden Forest at one of the keeper's lodges, which he adapted for his\nown use. There he hunted and studied astronomy and astrology with the\ncanons of Bolton.\n\nAt Flodden Field he led the men-at-arms from Craven, and showed that by\nhis life of extreme simplicity he had in no way diminished the\ntraditional valour of the Cliffords. When he died they buried him at\nBolton Abbey, where many of his ancestors lay, and as his successor\ndied after the dissolution of the monasteries, the \"Shepherd Lord\" was\nthe last to be buried in that secluded spot by the Wharfe.\n\nSkipton has always been a central spot for the exploration of this\nsouthern portion of the dales. To the north is Kirby Malham, a pretty\nlittle village with green limestone hills rising on all sides; a\nrushing beck coming off Kirby Fell takes its way past the church, and\nthere is an old vicarage as well as some picturesque cottages.\n\nWe find our way to a decayed lych-gate, whose stones are very black and\nmoss-grown, and then get a close view of the Perpendicular church. The\ninterior is full of interest, not only on account of the Norman font\nand the canopied niches in the pillars of the nave, but also for the\nold pews. The Malham people seemingly found great delight in recording\ntheir names on the woodwork of the pews, for carefully carved initials\nand dates appear very frequently. All the pews have been cut down to\nthe accepted height of the present day with the exception of some on\nthe north side which were occupied by the more important families, and\nthese still retain their squareness and the high balustrades above the\npanelled lower portions.\n\nJust under the moorland heights surrounding Malham Tarn is the other\nvillage of Malham. It is a charming spot, even in the gloom of a wintry\nafternoon. The houses look on to a strip of uneven green, cut in two,\nlengthways, by the Aire. We go across the clear and sparkling waters by\na rough stone footbridge, and, making our way past a farm, find\nourselves in a few minutes at Gordale Bridge. Here we abandon the\nswitchback lane, and, climbing a wall, begin to make our way along the\nside of the beck. The fells drop down fairly sharply on each side, and\nin the failing light there seems no object in following the stream any\nfurther, when quite suddenly the green slope on the right stands out\nfrom a scarred wall of rock beyond, and when we are abreast of the\nopening we find ourselves before a vast fissure that leads right into\nthe heart of the fell. The great split is S-shaped in plan, so that\nwhen we advance into its yawning mouth we are surrounded by limestone\ncliffs more than 300 feet high. If one visits Gordale Scar for the\nfirst time alone on a gloomy evening, as I have done, I can promise the\nmost thrilling sensations to those who have yet to see this astonishing\nsight. It almost appeared to me as though I were dreaming, and that I\nwas Aladdin approaching the magician's palace. I had read some of the\neighteenth-century writer's descriptions of the place, and imagined\nthat their vivid accounts of the terror inspired by the overhanging\nrocks were mere exaggerations, but now I sympathize with every word.\nThe scars overhang so much on the east side that there is not much\nspace to get out of reach of the water that drips from every portion.\nGreat masses of stone were lying upon the bright strip of turf, and\namong them I noticed some that could not have been there long; this\nmade me keep close under the cliff in justifiable fear of another fall.\nI stared with apprehension at one rock that would not only kill, but\ncompletely bury, anyone upon whom it fell, and I thought those old\nwriters had underrated the horrors of the place.\n\nWordsworth writes of\n\n  \"Gordale chasm, terrific as the lair Where the young lions couch,\"\n\nand he also describes it as one of the grandest objects in nature.\n\nA further result of the Craven fault that produced Gordale Scar can be\nseen at Malham Cove, about a mile away. There the cliff forms a curved\nfront 285 feet high, facing the open meadows down below. The limestone\nis formed in layers of great thickness, dividing the face of the cliff\ninto three fairly equal sections, the ledges formed at the commencement\nof each stratum allowing of the growth of bushes and small trees. A\nhard-pressed fox is said to have taken refuge on one of these\nprecarious ledges, and finding his way stopped in front, he tried to\nturn, and in doing so fell and was killed.\n\nAt the base of the perpendicular face of the cliff the Aire flows from\na very slightly arched recess in the rock. It is a really remarkable\nstream in making its debut without the slightest fuss, for it is large\nenough at its very birth to be called a small river. Its modesty is a\ngreat loss to Yorkshire, for if, instead of gathering strength in the\nhidden places in the limestone fells, it were to keep to more rational\nmethods, it would flow to the edge of the Cover, and there precipitate\nitself in majestic fashion into a great pool below.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nSETTLE AND THE INGLETON FELLS\n\n\nThe track across the moor from Malham Cove to Settle cannot be\nrecommended to anyone at night, owing to the extreme difficulty of\nkeeping to the path without a very great familiarity with every yard of\nthe way, so that when I merely suggested taking that route one wintry\nnight the villagers protested vigorously. I therefore took the road\nthat goes up from Kirby Malham, having borrowed a large hurricane lamp\nfrom the \"Buck\" Inn at Malham. Long before I reached the open moor I\nwas enveloped in a mist that would have made the track quite invisible\neven where it was most plainly marked, and I blessed the good folk at\nMalham who had advised me to take the road rather than run the risks of\nthe pot-holes that are a feature of the limestone fells. The little\ntown of Settle has a most distinctive feature in the possession of\nCastleberg, a steep limestone hill, densely wooded except at the very\ntop, that rises sharply just behind the market-place. Before the trees\nwere planted there seems to have been a sundial on the side of the\nhill, the precipitous scar on the top forming the gnomon. No one\nremembers this curious feature, although a print showing the numbers\nfixed upon the slope was published in 1778. The market-place has lost\nits curious old tolbooth, and in its place stands a town hall of good\nTudor design. Departed also is much of the charm of the old Shambles\nthat occupy a central position in the square. The lower story, with big\narches forming a sort of piazza in front of the butcher's and other\nshops, still remains in its old state, but the upper portion has been\nrestored in the fullest sense of that comprehensive term.\n\nIn the steep street that we came down on entering the town there may\nstill be seen a curious old tower, which seems to have forgotten its\noriginal purpose. Some of the houses have carved stone lintels to their\ndoorways and seventeenth-century dates, while the stone figure on 'The\nNaked Man' Inn, although bearing the date 1663, must be very much\nolder, the year of rebuilding being probably indicated rather than the\ndate of the figure.\n\nThe Ribble divides Settle from its former parish church at Giggleswick,\nand until 1838 the townsfolk had to go over the bridge and along a\nshort lane to the village which held its church. Settle having been\nformed into a separate parish, the parish clerk of the ancient village\nno longer has the fees for funerals and marriages. Although able to\nshare the church, the two places had stocks of their own for a great\nmany years. At Settle they have been taken from the market square and\nplaced in the court-house, and at Giggleswick one of the first things\nwe see on entering the village is one of the stone posts of the stocks\nstanding by the steps of the market cross. This cross has a very well\npreserved head, and it makes the foreground of a very pretty picture as\nwe look at the battlemented tower of the church through the\nstone-roofed lichgate grown over with ivy. The history of this fine old\nchurch, dedicated, like that of Middleham, to St Alkelda, has been\nwritten by Mr. Thomas Brayshaw, who knows every detail of the old\nbuilding from the chalice inscribed \"[Illustration] THE. COMMVNION.\nCVPP. BELONGINGE. TO. THE. PARISHE. OF. IYGGELSWICKE. MADE. IN. ANO.\n1585.\" to the inverted Norman capitals now forming the bases of the\npillars. The tower and the arcades date from about 1400, and the rest\nof the structure is about 100 years older.\n\n\"The Black Horse\" Inn has still two niches for small figures of saints,\nthat proclaim its ecclesiastical connections in early times. It is said\nthat in the days when it was one of the duties of the churchwardens to\nsee that no one was drinking there during the hours of service the\ninspection used to last up to the end of the sermon, and that when the\ncustom was abolished the church officials regretted it exceedingly.\nGiggleswick is also the proud possessor of a school founded in 1512. It\nhas grown from a very small beginning to a considerable establishment,\nand it possesses one of the most remarkable school chapels that can be\nseen anywhere in the country.\n\nThe greater part of this district of Yorkshire is composed of\nlimestone, forming bare hillsides honeycombed with underground waters\nand pot-holes, which often lead down into the most astonishing caverns.\nIn Ingleborough itself there is Gaping Gill Hole, a vast fissure nearly\n350 feet deep. It was only partially explored by M. Martel in 1895.\nIngleborough Cave penetrates into the mountain to a distance of nearly\n1,000 yards, and is one of the best of these limestone caverns for its\nstalactite formations. Guides take visitors from the village of Clapham\nto the inmost recesses and chambers that branch out of the small\nportion discovered in 1837.\n\nIn almost every direction there are opportunities for splendid mountain\nwalks, and if the tracks are followed the danger of hidden pot-holes is\ncomparatively small. From the summit of Ingleborough, and, indeed, from\nmost of the fells that reach 2,000 feet, there are magnificent views\nacross the brown fells, broken up with horizontal lines formed by the\nbare rocky scars.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nCONCERNING THE WOLDS\n\n\nOn wide uplands of chalk the air has a raciness, the sunlight a purity\nand a sparkle, not to be found in lowlands. There may be no streams,\nperhaps not even a pond; you may find few large trees, and scarcely any\nparks; ruined abbeys and even castles may be conspicuously absent, and\nyet the landscapes have a power of attracting and fascinating. This is\nexactly the case with the Wolds of Yorkshire, and their characteristics\nare not unlike the chalk hills of Sussex, or those great expanses of\nwindswept downs, where the weathered monoliths of Stonehenge have\nresisted sun and storm for ages.\n\nWhen we endeavour to analyse the power of attraction exerted by the\nWolds, we find it to exist in the sweeping outlines of the land with\nscarcely a house to be seen for many miles, in the purity of the air\nowing to the absence of smoke, in the brilliance of the sunlight due to\nthe whiteness of the roads and fields, and in the wonderful breezes\nthat for ever blow across pasture, stubble, and roots.\n\nAbove the eastern side of the valley, where the Derwent takes its deep\nand sinuous course towards the alluvial lands, the chalk first makes\nits appearance in the neighbourhood of Acklam, and farther north at\nWharram-le-Street, where picturesque hollows with precipitous sides\nbreak up the edge of the cretaceous deposits. Eastwards the high\ncountry, scarred here and there with gleaming chalk-pits, and netted\nwith roads of almost equal whiteness, continues to the great headland\nof Flamborough, where the sea frets and fumes all the summer, and\nlacerates the cliffs during the stormy months. The masses of flinty\nchalk have shown themselves so capable of resisting the erosion of the\nsea that the seaward termination of the Wolds has for many centuries\nbeen becoming more and more a pronounced feature of the east coast of\nEngland, and if the present rate of encroachment along the low shores\nof Holderness is continued, this accentuation will become still more\nconspicuous.\n\nThe open roads of the Wolds, bordered by bright green grass and hedges\nthat lean away from the direction of the prevailing wind, give wide\nviews to bare horizons, or glimpses beyond vast stretches of waving\ncorn, of distant country, blue and indistinct, and so different in\ncharacter from the immediate surroundings as to suggest the ocean.\n\nAt Flamborough the white cliffs, topped with the clay deposit of the\nglacial ages, approach a height of 200 feet; but although the thickness\nof the chalk is estimated to be from I,000 to I,500 feet, the greatest\nheight above sea-level is near Wilton Beacon, where the hills rise\nsharply from the Vale of York to 808 feet, and the beacon itself is 23\nfeet lower. On this western side of the plateau the views are extremely\ngood, extending for miles across the flat green vale, where the Derwent\nand the Ouse, having lost much of the light-heartedness and gaiety\ncharacterizing their youth in the dales, take their wandering and\nconverging courses towards the Humber. In the distance you can\ndistinguish a group of towers, a stately blue-grey outline cutting into\nthe soft horizon. It is York Minster. To the north-west lie the\nbeautifully wooded hills that rise above the Derwent, and hold in their\nembrace Castle Howard, Newburgh Priory, and many a stately park.\n\nTowards the north the descents are equally sudden, and the panorama of\nthe Vale of Pickering, extending from the hills behind Scarborough to\nHelmsley far away in the west, is most remarkable. Down below lies the\ncircumscribed plain, dead-level except for one or two isolated\nhillocks. The soil is dark and rich, and there is a marshy appearance\neverywhere, showing plainly the water-logged condition of the land even\nat the present day.\n\nThere is scarcely a district in England to compare with the Yorkshire\nWolds for its remarkable richness in the remains of Early Man. As long\nago as the middle of last century, when archaeology was more of a\npastime than a science, this corner of the country had become famous\nfor the rich discoveries in tumuli made by a few local enthusiasts.\n\nIt has been suggested that the flint-bearing character of the Wolds\nmade this part of Yorkshire a district for the manufacture of\nimplements and weapons for the inhabitants of a much larger area, and\nno doubt the possession of this ample supply of offensive material\nwould give the tribe in possession a power, wealth, and permanence\nsufficient to account for the wonderful evidences of a great and\ncontinuous population. In these districts it is only necessary to go\nslowly over a ploughed field after a period of heavy rain to be fairly\ncertain to pick up a flint knife, a beautifully chipped arrow-head, or\nan implement of less obvious purpose.\n\nTo those who have never taken any interest in the traces of Early Man\nin this country, this may appear a musty subject, but to me it is quite\nthe reverse. The long lines of entrenchments, the round tumuli, and the\nprehistoric sites generally--omitting lake dwellings--are most\ninvariably to be found upon high and windswept tablelands, wild or only\nrecently cultivated places, where the echoes have scarcely been\ndisturbed since the long-forgotten ages, when a primitive tribe mourned\nthe loss of a chieftain, or yelled defiance at their enemies from their\ndouble or triple lines of defence.\n\nIn journeying in any direction through the Wolds it is impossible to\nforget the existence of Early Man, for on the sky-line just above the\nroad will appear a row of two or three rounded projections from the\nregular line of turf or stubble. They are burial-mounds that the plough\nhas never levelled--heaps of earth that have resisted the\ndisintegrating action of weather and man for thousands of years. If\nsuch relics of the primitive inhabitants of this island fail to stir\nthe imagination, then the mustiness must exist in the unresponsive mind\nrather than in the subject under discussion.\n\nIn making an exploration of the Wolds a good starting-place is the\nold-fashioned town of Malton, whence railways radiate in five\ndirections, including the line to Great Driffield, which takes\nadvantage of the valley leading up to Wharram Percy, and there tunnels\nits way through the high ground.\n\nChoosing a day when the weather is in a congenial mood for rambling,\nlingering, or picnicking, or, in other words, when the sun is not too\nhot, nor the wind too cold, nor the sky too grey, we make our start\ntowards the hills. We go on wheels--it is unimportant how many, or to\nwhat they are attached--in order that the long stretches of white road\nmay not become tedious. The stone bridge over the Derwent is crossed,\nand, glancing back, we see the piled-up red roofs crowded along the\nsteep ground above the further bank, with the church raising its spire\nhigh above its newly-restored nave. Then the wide street of Norton,\nwhich is scarcely to be distinguished from Malton, being separated from\nit only by the river, shuts in the view with its houses of whity-red\nbrick, until their place is taken by hedgerows. To the left stretches\nthe Vale of Pickering, still a little hazy with the remnants of the\nnight's mist. Straight ahead and to the right the ground rises up,\nshowing a wall chequered with cornfields and root-crops, with long\nlines of plantations appearing like dark green caterpillars crawling\nalong the horizon.\n\nThe first village encountered is Rillington, with a church whose stone\nspire and the tower it rests upon have the appearance of being copied\nfrom Pickering. Inside there is an Early English font, and one of the\narcades of the nave belongs to the same period.\n\nTurning southwards a mile or two further on, we pass through the pretty\nvillage of Wintringham, and, when the cottages are passed, find the\nchurch standing among trees where the road bends, its tower and spire\nlooking much like the one just left behind. The interior is\ninteresting. The pews are all of old panelled oak, unstained, and with\nacorn knobs at the ends; the floor is entirely covered with glazed red\ntiles. The late Norman chancel, the plain circular font of the same\nperiod, and the massive altar-slab in the chapel, enclosed by wooden\nscreens on the north side, are the most notable features. Going to the\neast we reach Helperthorpe, one of the Wold villages adorned with a new\nchurch in the Decorated style. The village gained this ornament through\nthe generosity of the present Sir Tatton Sykes, of Sledmere, whose\nenthusiasm for church building is not confined to one place. In his\nown park at Sledmere four miles to the south, at West Lutton, East\nHeslerton, and Wansford you may see other examples of modern church\nbuilding, in which the architect has not been hampered by having to\nproduce a certain accommodation at a minimum cost. And thus in these\nvillages the fact of possessing a modern church does not detract from\ntheir charm; instead of doing so, the pilgrim in search of\necclesiastical interest finds much to draw him to them.\n\nAs a contrast to Helperthorpe, the adjoining hamlet of Weaverthorpe has\na church of very early Norman or possibly Saxon date, and an inscribed\nSaxon stone a century earlier than the one at Kirkdale, near Kirby\nMoorside. The inscription is on a sundial over the south porch in both\nchurches; but while that of Kirkdale is quite complete and perfect,\nthis one has words missing at the beginning and end. Haigh suggests\nthat the half-destroyed words should read: \"LIT OSCETVLI\nARCHIEPISCOPI.\" Then, without any doubt comes: \"[ILLUSTRATION] IN:\nHONORE: SCE: ANDREAE APOSTOLI: HEREBERTUS WINTONIE: HOC MONASTERIVM\nFECIT: I IN TEMPORE REGN.\" Here the inscription suddenly stops and\nleaves us in ignorance as to in whose time the monastery was built.\nThere seems little doubt at all that Father Haigh's suggested\ncompletion of the sentence is correct, making it read: \"IN TEMPORE\nREGN[ALDI REGIS SECUNDI],\" which would have just filled a complete\nline.\n\nThe coins of Regnald II. of Northumbria bear Christian devices, and it\nis known that he was confirmed in 942, while his predecessor of that\nname appears to have been a pagan. If the restoration of the first\nwords of the inscription are correct, the stone cannot be placed\nearlier than the year 952 (Dr. Stubbs says 958), when Oscetul succeeded\nWulstan to the See of York. However, even in a neighbourhood so replete\nwith antiquities this is sufficiently far back in the age of the\nVikings to be of thrilling interest, for you must travel far to find\nanother village church with an inscription carved nearly a thousand\nyears ago, at a time when the English nation was still receiving its\ninfusion of Scandinavian strength.\n\nThe arch of the tower and the door below the sundial have the\nnarrowness and rudeness suggesting the pre-Norman age, but more than\nthis it is unwise to say.\n\nAnd so we go on through the wide sunny valley, watching the shadows\nsweep across the fields, where often the soil is so thin that the\nground is more white than brown, scanning the horizon for tumuli, and\ntaking note of the different characteristics of each village. Not long\nago the houses, even in the small towns, were thatched, and even now\nthere are hamlets still cosy and picturesque under their mouse-coloured\nroofs; but in most instances you see a transition state of tiles\ngradually ousting the inflammable but beautiful thatch. The tiles all\nthrough the Wolds are of the curved pattern, and though cheerful in the\nbrilliance of their colour, and unspeakably preferable to thin blue\nslates, they do not seem to weather or gather moss and rich colouring\nin the same manner as the usual flat tile of the southern counties.\n\nWe turn aside to look at the rudely carved Norman tympanum over the\nchurch door at Wold Newton, and then go up to Thwing, on the rising\nground to the south, where we may see what Mr. Joseph Morris claims to\nbe the only other Norman tympanum in the East Riding. A cottage is\npointed out as the birthplace of Archbishop Lamplugh, who held the See\nof York from 1688 to 1691. He was of humble parentage and it is said\nthat he would often pause in conversation to slap his legs and say,\n\"Just fancy me being Archbishop of York!\" The name of the village is\nderived from the Norse word _Thing_, meaning an assembly.\n\nKeeping on towards the sea, we climb up out of the valley, and passing\nArgam Dike and Grindale, come out upon a vast gently undulating plateau\nwith scarcely a tree to be seen in any direction. A few farms are\ndotted here and there over the landscape, and towards Filey we can see\na windmill; but beyond these it seems as though the fierce winds that\nassail the promontory of Flamborough had blown away everything that was\nraised more than a few feet above the furrows.\n\nThe village of Bempton has, however, contrived to maintain itself in\nits bleak situation, although it is less than two miles from the huge\nperpendicular cliffs where the Wolds drop into the sea. The cottages\nhave a snug and eminently cheerful look, with their much-weathered\ntiles and white and ochre coloured walls. From their midst rises the\nlow square tower of the church, and if it ever had a spire or pinnacles\nin the past, it has none now; for either the north-easterly gales blew\nthem into the sea long ago, or else the people were wise enough never\nto put such obstructions in the way of the winter blasts.\n\nTurning southwards, we get a great view over the low shore of\nHolderness, curving away into the haze hanging over the ocean, with\nBridlington down below, raising to the sky the pair of towers at the\nwest end of its priory--one short and plain, and the other tall and\nrichly ornamented with pinnacles. Going through the streets of sober\nred houses of the old town, we come at length into a shallow green\nvalley, where the curious Gypsy Race flows intermittently along the\nfertile bottom. The afternoon sunshine floods the pleasant landscape\nwith a genial glow, and throws long blue shadows under the trees of the\npark surrounding Boynton Hall, the seat of the Stricklands. The family\nhas been connected with the village for several centuries, and some of\ntheir richly-painted and gilded monuments can be seen in the church.\nOne of these is to Sir William Strickland, Bart., and another to Lady\nStrickland, his wife, who was a sister of Sir Hugh Cholmley, the\ngallant but unfortunate defender of Scarborough Castle during the Civil\nWar. In his memoirs Sir Hugh often refers to visits paid him by \"my\nsister Strickland.\"\n\nAfter passing Thorpe Hall the road goes up to the breezy spot,\ncommanding wide views, where the little church of Rudstone stands\nconspicuously by the side of an enormous monolith. Although the church\ntower is Norman, it would appear to be a recent arrival on the scene in\ncomparison with the stone. Antiquaries are in fairly general agreement\nthat huge standing stones of this type belong to some very remote\nperiod, and also that they are \"associated with sepulchral purposes\";\nand the fact that they are usually found in churchyards would suggest\nthat they were regarded with a traditional veneration.\n\nThe road past the church drops steeply down into the pretty village,\nand, turning northwards, takes us to the bend of the valley, where\nNorth Burton lies, which we passed earlier in the day; so we go to the\nleft, and find ourselves at Kilham, a fair-sized village on the edge of\nthe chalk hills. Like Rudstone and a dozen places in its neighbourhood,\nKilham is situated in a district of extraordinary interest to the\narchaeologist, the prehistoric discoveries being exceedingly numerous.\nChariot burials of the Early Iron Age have been discovered here, as\nwell as large numbers of Neolithic implements. There is a beautiful\nNorman doorway in the nave of the church, ornamented with chevron\nmouldings in a lavish fashion. Far more interesting than this, however,\nare the fonts in the two villages of Cottam and Cowlam, lying close\ntogether, although separated by a thinly-wooded hollow, about five\nmiles to the west. Cottam Church and the farm adjoining it are all that\nnow exists of what must once have been an extensive village. In the\nchurch is a Norman font of cylindrical form, covered with the\nwonderfully crude carvings of that period. There are six subjects, the\nmost remarkable being the huge dragon with a long curly tail in the act\nof swallowing St. Margaret, whose skirts and feet are shown inside the\ncapacious jaws, while the head is beginning to appear somewhere behind\nthe dragon's neck. To the right is shown a gruesome representation of\nthe martyrdom of St. Lawrence, and then follow Adam and Eve by the Tree\nof Life (a twisted piece of foliage), the martyrdom of St. Andrew, and\nwhat seems to be another dragon.\n\nOn each side of the bridle-road by the church you can trace without the\nleast difficulty the ground-plan of many houses under the short turf.\nThe early writers do not mention Cottam, and so far I have come upon no\nexplanation for the wiping out of this village. Possibly its extinction\nwas due to the Black Death in 1349.\n\nIt is about four miles by road to Cowlam, although the two churches are\nonly about a mile and a half apart; and when Cowlam is reached there is\nnot much more in the way of a village than at Cottam. The only way to\nthe church from the road is through an enormous stackyard, speaking\neloquently of the large crops produced on the farm. As in the other\ninstance, a search has to be made for the key, entailing much\nperambulation of the farm.\n\nAt length the door is opened, and the splendid font at once arrests the\neye. More noticeable than anything else in the series of carvings are\nthe figures of two men wrestling, similar to those on the font from the\nvillage of Hutton Cranswick, now preserved in York Museum. The two\nfigures are shown bending forwards, each with his hands clasped round\nthe waist of the other, and each with a foot thrown forward to trip the\nother, after the manner of the Westmorland wrestlers to be seen at the\nGrasmere sports. It seems to me scarcely possible to doubt that the\nsubject represented is Jacob wrestling with the _man_ at Penuel.\n\nAt Sledmere, the adjoining village, everything has a well-cared-for and\nreposeful aspect. Its position in a shallow depression has made it\npossible for trees to grow, so that we find the road overhung by a\ngreen canopy in remarkable contrast to the usual bleakness of the\nWolds. The park surrounding Sir Tatton Sykes' house is well wooded,\nowing to much planting on what were bare slopes not very many years\nago.\n\nThe village well is dignified with a domed roof raised on tall columns,\nput up about seventy years ago by the previous Sir Tatton to the memory\nof his father, Sir Christopher Sykes; the inscription telling how much\nthe Wolds were transformed through his energy 'in building, planting,\nand enclosing,' from a bleak and barren track of country into what is\nnow considered one of the most productive and best-cultivated districts\nof Yorkshire. The late Sir Tatton Sykes was the sort of man that\nYorkshire folk come near to worshipping. He was of that hearty, genial,\nconservative type that filled the hearts of the farmers with pride. On\nmarket days all over the Riding one of the always fresh subjects of\nconversation was how Sir Tatton was looking. A great pillar put up to\nhis memory by the road leading to Garton can be seen over half\nHolderness. So great was the conservatism of this remarkable squire\nthat years after the advent of railways he continued to make his\njourney to Epsom, for the Derby, on horseback.\n\nA stone's-throw from the house stands the church, rebuilt, with the\nexception of the tower, in 1898 by Sir Tatton. There is no wall\nsurrounding the churchyard, neither is there ditch, nor bank, nor the\nslightest alteration in the smooth turf.\n\nThe church, designed by Mr. Temple Moore, is carried out in the style\nof the Decorated period in a stone that is neither red nor pink, but\nsomething in between the two colours. The exterior is not remarkable,\nbut the beauty of the internal ornament is most striking. Everywhere\nyou look, whether at the detail of carved wood or stone, the\nworkmanship is perfect, and without a trace of that crudity to be found\nin the carvings of so many modern churches. The clustered columns, the\ntimber roof, and the tracery of the windows are all dignified, in spite\nof the richness of form they display. Only in the upper portion of the\nscreen does the ornament seem a trifle worried and out of keeping with\nthe rest of the work.\n\nSledmere also boasts a tall and very beautiful 'Eleanor' cross, erected\nabout ten years ago, and a memorial to those who fell in the European\nwar.\n\nAs we continue towards the setting sun, the deeply-indented edges of\nthe Wolds begin to appear, and the roads generally make great plunges\ninto the valley of the Derwent. The weather, which has been fine all\nday, changes at sunset, and great indigo clouds, lined with gold, pile\nthemselves up fantastically in front of the setting sun. Lashing rain,\ndriven by the wind with sudden fury, pours down upon the hamlet lying\njust below, but leaves Wharram-le-Street without a drop of moisture.\nThe widespread views all over the Howardian Hills and the sombre valley\nof the Derwent become impressive, and an awesomeness of Turneresque\ngloom, relieved by sudden floods of misty gold, gives the landscape an\nelement of unreality.\n\nAgainst this background the outline of the church of Wharram-le-Street\nstands out in its rude simplicity. On the western side of the tower,\nwhere the light falls upon it, we can see the extremely early masonry\nthat suggests pre-Norman times. It cannot be definitely called a Saxon\nchurch, but although 'long and short work' does not appear, there is\nevery reason to associate this lonely little building with the middle\nof the eleventh century. There are mason marks consisting of crosses\nand barbed lines on the south wall of the nave. The opening between the\ntower and the nave is an almost unique feature, having a\nMoorish-looking arch of horseshoe shape resting on plain and clumsy\ncapitals.\n\nThe name Wharram-le-Street reminds us forcibly of the existence in\nremote times of some great way over this tableland. Unfortunately,\nthere is very little sure ground to go upon, despite the additional\nfact of there being another place, Thorpe-le-Street, some miles to the\nsouth.\n\nWith the light fast failing we go down steeply into the hollow where\nNorth Grimston nestles, and, crossing the streams which flow over the\nroad, come to the pretty old church. The tower is heavily mantled with\nivy, and has a statue of a Bishop on its west face. A Norman chancel\narch with zigzag moulding shows in the dim interior, and there is just\nenough light to see the splendid font, of similar age and shape to\nthose at Cowlam and Cottam. A large proportion of the surface is taken\nup with a wonderful 'Last Supper,' and on the remaining space the\ncarvings show the 'Descent from the Cross,' and a figure, possibly\nrepresenting St. Nicholas, the patron saint of the church.\n\nWhen the lights of Malton glimmer in the valley this day of exploration\nis at an end, and much of the Wold country has been seen.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nFROM FILEY TO SPURN HEAD\n\n\n'As the shore winds itself back from hence,' says Camden, after\ndescribing Flamborough Head, 'a thin slip of land (like a small tongue\nthrust out) shoots into the sea.' This is the long natural breakwater\nknown as Filey Brig, the distinctive feature of a pleasant\nwatering-place. In its wide, open, and gently curving bay, Filey is\nsingularly lucky; for it avoids the monotony of a featureless shore,\nand yet is not sufficiently embraced between headlands to lose the\nbroad horizon and sense of airiness and space so essential for a\nhealthy seaside haunt.\n\nThe Brig has plainly been formed by the erosion of Carr Naze, the\nheadland of dark, reddish-brown boulder clay, leaving its hard bed of\nsandstone (of the Middle Calcareous Grit formation) exposed to the\nparticular and ceaseless attention of the waves. It is one of the joys\nof Filey to go along the northward curve of the bay at low tide, and\nthen walk along the uneven tabular masses of rock with hungry waves\nheaving and foaming within a few yards on either hand. No wonder that\nthere has been sufficient sense among those who spend their lives in\npromoting schemes for ugly piers and senseless promenades, to realize\nthat Nature has supplied Filey with a more permanent and infinitely\nmore attractive pier than their fatuous ingenuity could produce. There\nis a spice of danger associated with the Brig, adding much to its\ninterest; for no one should venture along the spit of rocks unless the\ntide is in a proper state to allow him a safe return. A melancholy\nwarning of the dangers of the Brig is fixed to the rocky wall of the\nheadland, describing how an unfortunate visitor was swept into the sea\nby the sudden arrival of an abnormally large wave, but this need not\nfrighten away from the fascinating ridge of rock those who use ordinary\ncare in watching the sea. At high tide the waves come over the seaweedy\nrocks at the foot of the headland, making it necessary to climb to the\ngrassy top in order to get back to Filey.\n\nThe real fascination of the Brig comes when it can only be viewed from\nthe top of the Naze above, when a gale is blowing from the north or\nnorth-east, and driving enormous waves upon the line of projecting\nrocks. You watch far out until the dark green line of a higher wave\nthan any of the others that are creating a continuous thunder down\nbelow comes steadily onward, and reaching the foam-streaked area,\nbecomes still more sinister. As it approaches within striking distance,\na spent wave, sweeping backwards, seems as though it may weaken the\nonrush of the towering wall of water; but its power is swallowed up and\ndissipated in the general advance, and with only a smooth hollow of\ncreamy-white water in front, the giant raises itself to its fullest\nheight, its thin crest being at once caught by the wind, and blown off\nin long white beards.\n\nThe moment has come; the mass of water feels the resistance of the\nrocks, and, curling over into a long green cylinder, brings its head\ndown with terrific force on the immovable side of the Brig. Columns of\nwater shoot up perpendicularly into the air as though a dozen 12-inch\nshells had exploded in the water simultaneously. With a roar the\nimprisoned air escapes, and for a moment the whole Brig is invisible in\na vast cloud of spray; then dark ledges of rock can be seen running\nwith creamy water, and the scene of the impact is a cauldron of\nseething foam, backed by a smooth surface of pale green marble, veined\nwith white. Then the waters gather themselves together again, and the\npounding of lesser waves keeps up a thrilling spectacle until the\nmoment for another great _coup_ arrives.\n\nYears ago Filey obtained a reputation for being 'quiet,' and the sense\nconveyed by those who disliked the place was that of dullness and\nprimness. This fortunate chance has protected the little town from the\nvulgarizing influences of the unlettered hordes let loose upon the\ncoast in summer-time, and we find a sea-front without the flimsy\nmeretricious buildings of the popular resorts. Instead of imitating\nBlackpool and Margate, this sensible place has retained a quiet and\nsemi-rural front to the sea, and, as already stated, has not marred its\nappearance with a jetty.\n\nFrom the smooth sweep of golden sand rises a steep slope grown over\nwith trees and bushes which shade the paths in many places. Without\nclaiming any architectural charm, the town is small and quietly\nunobtrusive, and has not the untidy, half-built character of so many\nwatering-places.\n\nAbove a steep and narrow hollow, running straight down to the sea, and\ndensely wooded on both sides, stands the church. It has a very sturdy\ntower rising from its centre, and, with its simple battlemented outline\nand slit windows, has a semi-fortified appearance. The high\npitched-roofs of Early English times have been flattened without\ncutting away the projecting drip-stones on the tower, which remain a\nconspicuous feature. The interior is quite impressive. Round columns\nalternated with octagonal ones support pointed arches, and a clerestory\nabove pierced with roundheaded slits, indicating very decisively that\nthe nave was built in the Transitional Norman period. It appears that a\nwestern tower was projected, but never carried out, and an unusual\nfeature is the descent by two steps into the chancel.\n\nA beautiful view from the churchyard includes the whole sweep of the\nbay, cut off sharply by the Brig on the left hand, and ending about\neight miles away in the lofty range of white cliffs extending from\nSpeeton to Flamborough Head.\n\nThe headland itself is lower by more than a 100 feet than the cliffs in\nthe neighbourhood of Bempton and Speeton, which for a distance of over\ntwo miles exceed 300 feet. A road from Bempton village stops short a\nfew fields from the margin of the cliffs, and a path keeps close to the\nprecipitous wall of gleaming white chalk.\n\nWe come over the dry, sweet-smelling grass to the cliff edge on a fresh\nmorning, with a deep blue sky overhead and a sea below of ultramarine\nbroken up with an infinitude of surfaces reflecting scraps of the\ncliffs and the few white clouds. Falling on our knees, we look straight\ndownwards into a cove full of blue shade; but so bright is the\nsurrounding light that every detail is microscopically clear. The\ncrumpling and distortion of the successive layers of chalk can be seen\nwith such ease that we might be looking at a geological textbook. On\nthe ledges, too, can be seen rows of little whitebreasted puffins;\nrazor-bills are perched here and there, as well as countless\nguillemots. The ringed or bridled guillemot also breeds on the cliffs,\nand a number of other types of northern sea-birds are periodically\nnoticed along these inaccessible Bempton Cliffs. The guillemot makes no\nnest, merely laying a single egg on a ledge. If it is taken away by\nthose who plunder the cliffs at the risk of their lives, the bird lays\nanother egg, and if that disappears, perhaps even a third.\n\nComing to Flamborough Head along the road from the station, the first\nnoticeable feature is at the point where the road makes a sharp turn\ninto a deep wooded hollow. It is here that we cross the line of the\nremarkable entrenchment known as the Danes' Dyke. At this point it\nappears to follow the bed of a stream, but northwards, right across the\npromontory--that is, for two-thirds of its length--the huge trench is\npurely artificial. No doubt the _vallum_ on the seaward side has\nbeen worn down very considerably, and the _fosse_ would have been\ndeeper, making in its youth, a barrier which must have given the\ndwellers on the headland a very complete security.\n\nLike most popular names, the association of the Danes with the digging\nof this enormous trench has been proved to be inaccurate, and it would\nhave been less misleading and far more popular if the work had been\nattributed to the devil. In the autumn of 1879 General Pitt Rivers dug\nseveral trenches in the rampart just north of the point where the road\nfrom Bempton passes through the Dyke. The position was chosen in order\nthat the excavations might be close to the small stream which runs\ninside the Dyke at this point, the likelihood of utensils or weapons\nbeing dropped close to the water-supply of the defenders being\nconsidered important. The results of the excavations proved\nconclusively that the people who dug the ditch and threw up the rampart\nwere users of flint. The most remarkable discovery was that the ground\non the inner slope of the rampart, at a short distance below the\nsurface, contained innumerable artificial flint flakes, all lying in a\nhorizontal position, but none were found on the outer slope. From this\nfact General Pitt Rivers concluded that within the stockade running\nalong the top of the _vallum_ the defenders were in the habit of\nchipping their weapons, the flakes falling on the inside. The great\nentrenchment of Flamborough is consequently the work of flint-using\npeople, and 'is not later than the Bronze Period.'\n\nAnd the strangest fact concerning the promontory is the isolation of\nits inhabitants from the rest of the county, a traditional hatred for\nstrangers having kept the fisherfolk of the peninsula aloof from\noutside influences. They have married among themselves for so long,\nthat it is quite possible that their ancestral characteristics have\nbeen reproduced, with only a very slight intermixture of other stocks,\nfor an exceptionally long period. On taking minute particulars of\nninety Flamborough men and women, General Pitt Rivers discovered that\nthey were above the average stature of the neighbourhood, and were,\nwith only one or two exceptions, dark-haired. They showed little or no\ntrace of the fair-haired element usually found in the people of this\npart of Yorkshire. It is also stated that almost within living memory,\nwhen the headland was still further isolated by a belt of uncultivated\nwolds, the village could not be approached by a stranger without some\ndanger.\n\nWe find no one to object to our intrusion, and go on towards the\nvillage. It is a straggling collection of low, red houses, lacking,\nunfortunately, anything which can honestly be termed picturesque; for\nthe church stands alone, a little to the south, and the small ruin of\nwhat is called 'The Danish Tower' is too insignificant to add to the\nattractiveness of the place.\n\nAll the males of Flamborough are fishermen, or dependent on fishing for\ntheir livelihood; and in spite of the summer visitors, there is a total\nindifference to their incursions in the way of catering for their\nentertainment, the aim of the trippers being the lighthouse and the\ncliffs nearly two miles away.\n\nFormerly, the church had only a belfry of timber, the existing stone\ntower being only ten years old. Under the Norman chancel arch there is\na delicately-carved Perpendicular screen, having thirteen canopied\nniches richly carved above and below, and still showing in places the\nred, blue, and gold of its old paint-work. Another screen south of the\nchancel is patched and roughly finished. The altar-tomb of Sir\nMarmaduke Constable, of Flamborough, on the north side of the chancel,\nis remarkable for its long inscription, detailing the chief events in\nthe life of this great man, who was considered one of the most eminent\nand potent persons in the county in the reign of Henry VIII. The\ngreatness of the man is borne out first in a recital of his doughty\ndeeds: of his passing over to France 'with Kyng Edwarde the fourith,\ny[t] noble knyght.'\n\n  'And also with noble king Herre, the sevinth of that name\n  He was also at Barwick at the winnyng of the same [1482]\n  And by ky[n]g Edward chosy[n] Captey[n] there first of anyone\n  And rewllid and governid ther his tyme without blame\n  But for all that, as ye se, he lieth under this stone.'\n\nThe inscription goes on in this way to tell how he fought at Flodden\nField when he was seventy, 'nothyng hedyng his age.'\n\nSir Marmaduke's daughter Catherine was married to Sir Roger Cholmley,\ncalled 'the Great Black Knight of the North,' who was the first of his\nfamily to settle in Yorkshire, and also fought at Flodden, receiving\nhis knighthood after that signal victory over the Scots.\n\nYorkshire being a county in which superstitions are uncommonly\nlong-lived it is not surprising to find that a fisherman will turn back\nfrom going to his boat, if he happen on his way to meet a parson, a\nwoman, or a hare, as any one of these brings bad luck. It is also\nextremely unwise to mention to a man who is baiting lines a hare, a\nrabbit, a fox, a pig, or an egg. This sounds foolish, but a fisherman\nwill abandon his work till the next day if these animals are mentioned\nin his presence[1].\n\n[Footnote 1: 'Flamborough Village and Headland,' Colonel A.H.\nArmytage.]\n\nOn the north and south sides of the headland there are precarious\nbeaches for the fisherman to bring in their boats. They have no\nprotection at all from the weather, no attempt at forming even such\nminiature harbours as may be seen on the Berwickshire coast having been\nmade. When the wind blows hard from the north, the landing on that side\nis useless, and the boats, having no shelter, are hauled up the steep\nslope with the help of a steam windlass. Under these circumstances the\nSouth Landing is used. It is similar in most respects to the northern\none, but, owing to the cliffs being lower, the cove is less\npicturesque. At low tide a beach of very rough shingle is exposed\nbetween the ragged chalk cliffs, curiously eaten away by the sea.\nSeaweed paints much of the shore and the base of the cliffs a blackish\ngreen, and above the perpendicular whiteness the ruddy brown clay\nslopes back to the grass above.\n\nWhen the boats have just come in and added their gaudy vermilions,\nblues, and emerald greens to the picture, the North Landing is worth\nseeing. The men in their blue jerseys and sea-boots coming almost to\ntheir hips, land their hauls of silvery cod and load the baskets\npannier-wise on the backs of sturdy donkeys, whose work is to trudge up\nthe steep slope to the road, nearly 200 feet above the boats, where\ncarts take the fish to the station four miles away.\n\nIn following the margin of the cliffs to the outermost point of the\npeninsula, we get a series of splendid stretches of cliff scenery. The\nchalk is deeply indented in many places, and is honey-combed with\ncaves. Great white pillars and stacks of chalk stand in picturesque\ngroups in some of the small bays, and everywhere there is the interest\nof watching the heaving water far below, with white gulls floating\nunconcernedly on the surface, or flapping their great stretch of wing\nas they circle just above the waves.\n\nNear the modern lighthouse stands a tall, hexagonal tower, built of\nchalk in four stories, with a string course between each. The signs of\nage it bears and the remarkable obscurity surrounding its origin and\npurpose would suggest great antiquity, and yet there seems little doubt\nthat the tower is at the very earliest Elizabethan. The chalk, being\nextremely soft, has weathered away to such an extent that the harder\nstone of the windows and doors now projects several inches.\n\nIn a record dated June 21, 1588, the month before the Spanish Armada\nwas sighted in the English Channel, a list is given of the beacons in\nthe East Riding, and instructions as to when they should be lighted,\nand what action should be taken when the warning was seen. It says\nbriefly:\n\n  'Flambrough, three beacons uppon the sea cost,\n  takinge lighte from Bridlington,\n  and geving lighte to Rudstone.'\n\nThere is no reference to any tower, and the beacons everywhere seem\nmerely to have been bonfires ready for lighting, watched every day by\ntwo, and every night by three 'honest householders ... above the age of\nthirty years.' The old tower would appear, therefore, to have been put\nup as a lighthouse. If this is a correct supposition, however, the\ndangers of the headland to shipping must have been recognized as\nexceedingly great several centuries ago. A light could not have failed\nto have been a boon to mariners, and its maintenance would have been a\nmatter of importance to all who owned ships; and yet, if this old tower\never held a lantern, the hiatus between the last night when it glowed\non the headland, and the erection of the present lighthouse is so great\nthat no one seems to be able to state definitely for what purpose the\nearly structure came into existence.\n\nYear after year when night fell the cliffs were shrouded in blackness,\nwith the direful result that between 1770 and 1806 one hundred and\nseventy-four ships were wrecked or lost on or near the promontory. It\nremained for a benevolent-minded customs officer of Bridlington--a Mr.\nMilne--to suggest the building of a lighthouse to the Elder Brethren of\nTrinity House, with the result that since December 6, 1806, a powerful\nlight has every night flashed on Flamborough Head. The immediate result\nwas that in the first seven years of its beneficent work no vessel was\n'lost on that station when the lights could be seen.'\n\nThe derivation of the name Flamborough has been conclusively shown to\nhave nothing at all to do with the English word 'flame,' being possibly\na corruption of _Fleinn_, a Norse surname, and _borg_ or\n_burgh_, meaning a castle. In Domesday it is spelt 'Flaneburg,'\nand _flane_ is the Norse for an arrow or sword.\n\nAt the point where the chalk cliffs disappear and the low coast of\nHolderness begins, we come to the exceedingly popular watering-place of\nBridlington. At one time the town was quite separate from the quay, and\neven now there are two towns--the solemn and serious, almost Quakerish,\nplace inland, and the eminently pleasure-loving and frivolous holiday\nresort on the sea; but they are now joined up by modern houses and the\nrailway-station, and in time they will be as united as the 'Three\nTowns' of Plymouth. Along the sea-front are spread out by the wide\nparades, all those 'attractions' which exercise their potential\nenergies on certain types of mankind as each summer comes round. There\nare seats, concert-rooms, hotels, lodging-houses, bands, kiosks,\nrefreshment-bars, boats, bathing-machines, a switchback-railway, and\neven a spa, by which means the migratory folk are housed, fed, amused,\nand given every excuse for loitering within a few yards of the long\ncurving line of waves that advances and retreats over the much-trodden\nsand.\n\nThe two stone piers enclosing the harbour make an interesting feature\nin the centre of the sea-front, where the few houses of old Bridlington\nQuay that have survived, are not entirely unpicturesque.\n\nIn 1642 Queen Henrietta Maria landed on whatever quay then existed. She\nhad just returned from Holland with ships laden with arms and\nammunition for the Royalist army. Adverse winds had brought the Dutch\nships to Bridlington instead of Newcastle, where the Queen had intended\nto land, and a delay was caused while messengers were sent to the Earl\nof Newcastle in order that her landing might be effected in proper\nsecurity. News of the Dutch ships lying off Bridlington was, however,\nconveyed to four Parliamentary vessels stationed by the bar at\nTynemouth, and no time was lost in sailing southwards. What happened is\ntold in a letter published in the same year, and dated February 25,\n1642. It describes how, after two days' riding at anchor, the cavalry\narrived, upon which the Queen disembarked, and the next morning the\nrest of the loyal army came to wait on her.\n\n'God that was carefull to preserve Her by Sea, did likewise continue\nhis favour to Her on the Land: For that night foure of the Parliament\nShips arrived at Burlington, without being perceived by us; and at\nfoure a clocke in the morning gave us an Alarme, which caused us to\nsend speedily to the Port to secure our Boats of Ammunition, which were\nbut newly landed. But about an houre after the foure Ships began to ply\nus so fast with their Ordinance, that it made us all to rise out of our\nbeds with diligence, and leave the Village, at least the women; for the\nSouldiers staid very resolutely to defend the Ammunition, in case their\nforces should land. One of the Ships did Her the favour to flanck upon\nthe house where the Queene lay, which was just before the Peere; and\nbefore She was out of Her bed, the Cannon bullets whistled so loud\nabout her, (which Musicke you may easily believe was not very pleasing\nto Her) that all the company pressed Her earnestly to goe out of the\nhouse, their Cannon having totally beaten downe all the neighbouring\nhouses, and two Cannon bullets falling from the top to the bottome of\nthe house where She was; so that (clothed as She could) She went on\nfoot some little distance out of the Towne, under the shelter of a\nDitch (like that of Newmarket;) whither before She could get, the\nCannon bullets fell thicke about us, and a Sergeant was killed within\ntwenty paces of Her.'\n\nIn old Bridlington there stands the fine church of the Augustinian\nPriory we have already seen from a distance, and an ancient structure\nknown as the Bayle Gate, a remnant of the defences of the monastery.\nThey stand at no great distance apart, but do not arrange themselves to\nform a picture, which is unfortunate, and so also is the lack of any\nreal charm in the domestic architecture of the adjoining streets. The\nBayle Gate has a large pointed arch and a postern, and the date of its\nerection appears to be the end of the fourteenth century, when\npermission was given to the prior to fortify the monastery. Unhappily\nfor Bridlington, an order to destroy the buildings was given soon after\nthe Dissolution, and the nave of the church seems to have been spared\nonly because it was used as the parish church. Quite probably, too, the\ngatehouse was saved from destruction on account of the room it contains\nhaving been utilized for holding courts. The upper portions of the\nchurch towers are modern restorations, and their different heights and\nstyles give the building a remarkable, but not a beautiful outline. At\nthe west end, between the towers is a large Perpendicular window,\noccupying the whole width of the nave, and on the north side the\nvaulted porch is a very beautiful feature.\n\nThe interior reveals an inspiring perspective of clustered columns\nbuilt in the Early English Period with a fine Decorated triforium on\nthe north side. Both transepts and the chancel appear to have been\ndestroyed with the conventual buildings, and the present chancel is\nmerely a portion of the nave separated with screens.\n\nSouthwards in one huge curve of nearly forty miles stretches the low\ncoast of Holderness, seemingly continued into infinitude. There is\nnothing comparable to it on the coasts of the British Isles for its\nfeatureless monotony and for the unbroken front it presents to the sea.\nThe low brown cliffs of hard clay seem to have no more resisting power\nto the capacious appetite of the waves than if they were of\ngingerbread. The progress of the sea has been continued for centuries,\nand stories of lost villages and of overwhelmed churches are met with\nall the way to Spurn Head. Four or five miles south of Bridlington we\ncome to a point on the shore where, looking out among the lines of\nbreaking waves, we are including the sides of the two demolished\nvillages of Auburn and Hartburn.\n\nFrom a casual glance at Skipsea no one would attribute any importance\nto it in the past. It was, nevertheless, the chief place in the\nlordship of Holderness in Norman times, and from that we may also infer\nthat it was the most well-defended stronghold. On a level plain having\npractically no defensible sites, great earthworks would be necessary,\nand these we find at Skipsea Brough. There is a high mound surrounded\nby a ditch, and a segment of the great outer circle of defences exists\non the south-west side. No masonry of any description can be seen on\nthe grass-covered embankment, but on the artificial hillock, once\ncrowned, it is surmised, by a Norman keep, there is one small piece\nof stonework. These earthworks have been considered Saxon, but later\nopinion labels them post-Conquest.[1] In the time of the Domesday\nSurvey the Seigniory of Holderness was held by Drogo de Bevere, a\nFlemish adventurer who joined in the Norman invasion of England and\nreceived his extensive fief from the Conqueror. He also was given the\nKing's niece in marriage as a mark of special favour; but having for\nsome reason seen fit to poison her, he fled from England, it is said,\nduring the last few months of William's reign. The Barony of Holderness\nwas forfeited, but Drogo was never captured.\n\n[Footnote 1: A worked flint was found in the moat not long ago by Dr.\nJ. L. Kirk, of Pickering.]\n\nPoulson, the historian of Holderness, states that Henry III. gave\norders for the destruction of Skipsea Castle about 1220, the Earl of\nAlbemarle, its owner at that time, having been in rebellion. When\nEdward II. ascended the throne, he recalled his profligate companion\nPiers Gaveston, and besides creating him Baron of Wallingford and Earl\nof Cornwall, he presented this ill-chosen favourite with the great\nSeigniory of Holderness.\n\nGoing southwards from Skipsea, we pass through Atwick, with a cross on\na large base in the centre of the village, and two miles further on\ncome to Hornsea, an old-fashioned little town standing between the sea\nand the Mere. This beautiful sheet of fresh water comes as a surprise\nto the stranger, for no one but a geologist expects to discover a lake\nin a perfectly level country where only tidal creeks are usually to be\nfound. Hornsea Mere may eventually be reached by the sea, and yet that\nday is likely to be put further off year by year on account of the\ngrowth of a new town on the shore.\n\nThe scenery of the Mere is quietly beautiful. Where the road to\nBeverley skirts its margin there are glimpses of the shimmering surface\nseen through gaps in the trees that grow almost in the water, many of\nthem having lost their balance and subsided into the lake, being\nsupported in a horizontal position by their branches. The islands and\nthe swampy margins form secure breeding-places for the countless\nwater-fowl, and the lake abounds with pike, perch, eel, and roach.\n\nIt was the excellent supply of fish yielded by Hornsea Mere that led to\na hot discussion between the neighbouring Abbey of Meaux and St.\nMary's Abbey at York. In the year 1260 William, eleventh Abbot of\nMeaux, laid claim to fishing rights in the southern half of the lake,\nonly to find his brother Abbot of York determined to resist the claim.\nThe cloisters of the two abbeys must have buzzed with excitement over\nthe _impasse_ and relations became so strained that the only\nmethod of determining the issue was by each side agreeing to submit to\nthe result of a judicial combat between champions selected by the two\nmonasteries. Where the fight took place I do not know, and the number\nof champions is not mentioned in the record. It is stated that a horse\nwas first swum across the lake, and stakes fixed to mark the limits of\nthe claim. On the day appointed the combatants chosen by each abbot\nappeared properly accoutred, and they fought from morning until\nevening, when, at last, the men representing Meaux were beaten to the\nground, and the York abbot retained the whole fishing rights of the\nMere.\n\nHornsea has a pretty church with a picturesque tower built in between\nthe western ends of the aisles. An eighteenth-century parish clerk\nutilized the crypt for storing smuggled goods, and was busily at work\nthere on a stormy night in 1732, when a terrific blast of wind tore the\nroof off the church. The shock, we are told, brought on a paralytic\nseizure of which he died.\n\nBy the churchyard gate stands the old market-cross, recently set up in\nthis new position and supplied with a modern head.\n\nAs we go towards Spurn Head we are more and more impressed with the\ndesolate character of the shore. The tide may be out, and only puny\nwaves tumbling on the wet sand, and yet it is impossible to refrain\nfrom feeling that the very peacefulness of the scene is sinister, and\nthe waters are merely digesting their last meal of boulder-clay before\nsatisfying a fresh appetite.\n\nThe busy town of Hornsea Beck, the port of Hornsea, with its harbour\nand pier, its houses, and all pertaining to it, has entirely\ndisappeared since the time of James I., and so also has the place\ncalled Hornsea Burton, where in 1334 Meaux Abbey held twenty-seven\nacres of arable land. At the end of that century not one of those acres\nremained. The fate of Owthorne, a village once existing not far from\nWithernsea, is pathetic. The churchyard was steadily destroyed, until\n1816, when in a great storm the waves undermined the foundations of the\neastern end of the church, so that the walls collapsed with a roar and\na cloud of dust.\n\nTwenty-two years later there was scarcely a fragment of even the\nchurchyard left, and in 1844, the Vicarage and the remaining houses\nwere absorbed, and Owthorne was wiped off the map.\n\nThe peninsula formed by the Humber is becoming more and more\nattenuated, and the pretty village of Easington is being brought nearer\nto the sea, winter by winter. Close to the church, Easington has been\nfortunate in preserving its fourteenth-century tithe-barn covered with\na thatched roof. The interior has that wonderfully imposing effect\ngiven by huge posts and beams suggesting a wooden cathedral.\n\nAt Kilnsea the weak bank of earth forming the only resistance to the\nwaves has been repeatedly swept away and hundreds of acres flooded with\nsalt water, and where there are any cliffs at all, they are often not\nmore than fifteen feet high.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nBEVERLEY\n\n\nWhen the great bell in the southern tower of the Minster booms forth\nits deep and solemn notes over the city of Beverley, you experience an\nuplifting of the mind--a sense of exaltation greater, perhaps, than\neven that produced by an organ's vibrating notes in the high vaulted\nspaces of a cathedral.\n\nBeverley has no natural features to give it any attractiveness, for it\nstands on the borders of the level plain of Holderness, and towards the\nWolds there is only a very gentle rise. It depends, therefore, solely\nupon its architecture. The first view of the city from the west as we\ncome over the broad grassy common of Westwood is delightful. We are\njust sufficiently elevated to see the opalescent form of the Minster,\nwith its graceful towers rising above the more distant roofs, and close\nat hand the pinnacled tower of St. Mary's showing behind a mass of dark\ntrees. The entry to the city from this direction is in every way\nprepossessing, for the sunny common is succeeded by a broad, tree\nlined road, with old-fashioned houses standing sedately behind the\nfoliage, and the end of the avenue is closed by the North Bar--the last\nof Beverley's gates. It dates from 1410, and is built of very dark red\nbrick, with one arch only, the footways being taken through the modern\nhouses, shouldering it on each side. Leland's account and the town\nrecords long before his day tell us that there were three gates, but\nnothing remains of 'Keldgate barr' and the 'barr de Newbygyng.'\n\nWe go through the archway and find ourselves in a wide street with the\nbeautiful west end of St. Mary's Church on the left, quaint Georgian\nhouses, and a dignified hotel of the same period on the opposite side,\nwhile straight ahead is the broad Saturday Market with its very\npicturesque 'cross.' The cross was put up in 1714 by Sir Charles\nHotham, Bart., and Sir Michael Warton, Members of Parliament for the\nCorporation at that time.\n\nWithout the towers the exterior of the Minster gives me little\npleasure, for the Early English chancel and greater and lesser\ntransepts, although imposing and massive, are lacking in proper\nproportion, and in that deficiency suffer a loss of dignity. The\neulogies so many architects and writers have poured out upon the Early\nEnglish work of this great church, and the strangely adverse comments\nthe same critics have levelled at the Perpendicular additions, do not\nblind me to what I regard as a most strange misconception on the part\nof these people. The homogeneity of the central and eastern portions of\nthe Minster is undeniable, but because what appears to be the design of\none master-builder of the thirteenth century was apparently carried out\nin the short period of twenty years, I do not feel obliged to consider\nthe result beautiful.\n\nIn the Perpendicular work of the western towers everything is in\ngraceful proportion, and nothing from the ground to the top of the\nturrets, jars with the wonderful dignity of their perfect lines.\n\nA few years before the Norman Conquest a central tower and a presbytery\nwere added to the existing building by Archbishop Cynesige. The\n'Frenchman's' influence was probably sufficiently felt at that time to\ngive this work the stamp of Norman ideas, and would have shown a marked\nadvance on the Romanesque style of the Saxon age, in which the other\nportions of the buildings were put up. After that time we are in the\ndark as to what happened until the year 1188, when a disaster took\nplace of which there is a record:\n\n'In the year from the incarnation of Our Lord 1188, this church was\nburnt, in the month of September, the night after the Feast of St.\nMatthew the Apostle, and in the year 1197, the sixth of the ides of\nMarch, there was an inquisition made for the relics of the blessed John\nin this place, and these bones were found in the east part of his\nsepulchre, and reposited; and dust mixed with mortar was found\nlikewise, and re-interred.'\n\nThis is a translation of the Latin inscription on a leaden plate\ndiscovered in 1664, when a square stone vault in the church was opened\nand found to be the grave of the canonized John of Beverley. The\npicture history gives us of this remarkable man, although to a great\nextent hazy with superstitious legend, yet shows him to have been one\nof the greatest and noblest of the ecclesiastics who controlled the\nEarly Church in England. He founded the monastery at Beverley about the\nyear 700, on what appears to have been an isolated spot surrounded by\nforest and swamp, and after holding the See of York for some twelve\nyears, he retired here for the rest of his life. When he died, in 721,\nhis memory became more and more sacred, and his powers of intercession\nwere constantly invoked. The splendid shrine provided for his relics in\n1037 was encrusted with jewels and shone with the precious metals\nemployed. Like the tomb of William the Conqueror at Caen, it\ndisappeared long ago. After the collapse of the central tower to its very\nfoundations came the vast Early English reconstruction of everything\nexcept the nave, which was possibly of pre-Conquest date, and survived\nuntil the present Decorated successor took its place. Much discussion\nhas centred round certain semicircular arches at the back of the\ntriforium, whose ornament is unmistakably Norman, suggesting that the\nearly nave was merely remodelled in the later period. The last great\naddition to the structure was the beautiful Perpendicular north porch\nand the west end--the glory of Beverley. The interior of the transepts\nand chancel is extremely interesting, but entirely lacking in that\nperfection of form characterizing York.\n\nA magnificent range of stalls crowned with elaborate tabernacle work of\nthe sixteenth century adorns the choir, and under each of the\nsixty-eight seats are carved misereres, making a larger collection than\nany other in the country. The subjects range from a horrible\nrepresentation of the devil with a second face in the middle of his\nbody to humorous pictures of a cat playing a fiddle, and a scold on her\nway to the ducking-stool in a wheel-barrow, gripping with one hand the\near of the man who is wheeling her.\n\nIn the north-east corner of the choir, built across the opening to the\nlesser transept on that side, is the tomb of Lady Eleanor FitzAllen,\nwife of Henry, first Lord Percy of Alnwick. It is considered to be,\nwithout a rival, the most beautiful tomb in this country. The canopy is\ncomposed of sumptuously carved stone, and while it is literally\nencrusted with ornament, it is designed in such a masterly fashion that\nthe general effect, whether seen at a distance or close at hand, is\nalways magnificent. The broad lines of the canopy consist of a steep\ngable with an ogee arch within, cusped so as to form a base at its apex\nfor an elaborate piece of statuary. This is repeated on both sides of\nthe monument. On the side towards the altar, the large bearded figure\nrepresents the Deity, with angels standing on each side of the throne,\nholding across His knees a sheet. From this rises a small undraped\nfigure representing Lady Eleanor, whose uplifted hands are held in one\nof those of her Maker, who is shown in the act of benediction with two\nfingers on her head.\n\nIn the north aisle of the chancel there is a very unusual double\nstaircase. It is recessed in the wall, and the arcading that runs along\nthe aisle beneath the windows is inclined upwards and down again at a\nslight angle, similar to the rise of the steps which are behind the\nmarble columns. This was the old way to the chapter-house, destroyed at\nthe Dissolution, and is an extremely fine example of an Early English\nstairway. Near the Percy chapel stands the ancient stone chair of\nsanctuary, or frith-stool. It has been broken and repaired with iron\nclamps, and the inscription upon it, recorded by Spelman, has gone. The\nprivileges of sanctuary were limited by Henry VIII, and abolished in\nthe reign of James I; but before the Dissolution malefactors of all\nsorts and conditions, from esquires and gentlewomen down to chapmen and\nminstrels, frequently came in undignified haste to claim the security\nof St. John of Beverley. Here is a case quoted from the register by Mr.\nCharles Hiatt in his admirable account of the Minster:\n\n'John Spret, Gentilman, memorandum that John Spret, of Barton upon\nUmber, in the counte of Lyncoln, gentilman, com to Beverlay, the first\nday of October the vii yer of the reen of Keing Herry vii and asked the\nlybertes of Saint John of Beverlay, for the dethe of John Welton,\nhusbondman, of the same town, and knawleg [acknowledge] hymselff to be\nat the kyllyng of the saym John with a dagarth, the xv day of August.'\n\nOn entering the city we passed St. Mary's, a beautiful Perpendicular\nchurch which is not eclipsed even by the major attractions of the\nMinster. At the west end there is a splendid Perpendicular window\nflanked by octagonal buttresses of a slightly earlier date, which are\nrun up to a considerable height above the roof of the nave, the upper\nportions being made light and graceful, with an opening on each face,\nand a pierced parapet. The tower rises above the crossing, and is\ncrowned by sixteen pinnacles.\n\nIn its general appearance the large south porch is Perpendicular, like\nthe greater part of the church, but the inner portion of its arch is\nNorman, and the outer is Early English. One of the pillars of the nave\nis ornamented just below the capital with five quaint little minstrels\ncarved in stone. Each is supported by a bold bracket, and each is\npainted. The musical instruments are all much battered, but it can be\nseen that the centre figure, who is dressed as an alderman, had a harp,\nand the others a pipe, a lute, a drum, and a violin. From Saxon times\nthere had existed in Beverley a guild of minstrels, a prosperous\nfraternity bound by regulations, which Poulson gives at length in his\nmonumental work on Beverley. The minstrels played at aldermen's feasts,\nat weddings, on market-days, and on all occasions when there was excuse\nfor music.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nALONG THE HUMBER\n\n\n  'Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh;\n  But if you faint, as fearing to do so,\n  Stay and be secret, and myself will go.'\n       _Richard II_, Act II, Scene 1.\n\nThe atrophied corner of Yorkshire that embraces the lowest reaches of\nthe Humber is terminated by a mere raised causeway leading to the wider\npatch of ground dominated by Spurn Head lighthouse. This long ridge of\nsand and shingle is all that remains of a very considerable and\npopulous area possessing towns and villages as recently as the middle\nof the fourteenth century.\n\nFar back in the Middle Ages the Humber was a busy waterway for\nshipping, where merchant vessels were constantly coming and going,\nbearing away the wool of Holderness and bringing in foreign goods,\nwhich the Humber towns were eager to buy. This traffic soon\ndemonstrated the need of some light on the point of land where the\nestuary joined the sea, and in 1428 Henry VI granted a toll on all\nvessels entering the Humber in aid of the first lighthouse put up about\nthat time by a benevolent hermit.\n\nNo doubt the site of this early structure has long ago been submerged.\nThe same fate came upon the two lights erected on Kilnsea Common by\nJustinian Angell, a London merchant, who received a patent from Charles\nII to 'continue, renew, and maintain' two lights at Spurn Point.\n\nIn 1766 the famous John Smeaton was called upon to put up two\nlighthouses, one 90 feet and the other 50 feet high. There was no hurry\nin completing the work, for the foundations of the high light were not\ncompleted until six years later. The sea repeatedly destroyed the low\nlight, owing to the waves reaching it at high tide. Poulson mentions\nthe loss of three structures between 1776 and 1816. The fourth was\ntaken down after a brief life of fourteen years, the sea having laid\nthe foundations bare. As late as the beginning of last century the\nillumination was produced by 'a naked coal fire, unprotected from the\nwind,' and its power was consequently most uncertain.\n\nSmeaton's high tower is now only represented by its foundations and the\ncircular wall surrounding them, which acts as a convenient shelter from\nwind and sand for the low houses of the men who are stationed there for\nthe lifeboat and other purposes.\n\nThe present lighthouse is 30 feet higher than Smeaton's, and is fitted\nwith the modern system of dioptric refractors, giving a light of\n519,000 candle-power, which is greater than any other on the east coast\nof England. The need for a second structure has been obviated by\nplacing the low lights half-way down the existing tower. Every twenty\nseconds the upper light flashes for one and a half seconds, being seen\nin clear weather at a distance of seventeen nautical miles.\n\nIn the Middle Ages great fortunes were made on the shores on the\nHumber. Sir William de la Pole was a merchant of remarkable enterprise,\nand the most notable of those who traded at Ravenserodd. It was\nprobably owing to his great wealth that his son was made a\nknight-banneret, and his grandson became Earl of Suffolk. Another of\nthe De la Poles was the first Mayor of Hull, and seems to have been no\nless opulent than his brother, who lent large sums of money to Edward\nIII, and was in consequence appointed Chief Baron of the Exchequer and\nalso presented with the Lordship of Holderness.\n\nThe story of Ravenser, and the later town of Ravenserodd, is told in a\nnumber of early records, and from them we can see clearly what happened\nin this corner of Yorkshire. Owing to a natural confusion from the many\ndifferent spellings of the two places, the fate of the prosperous port\nof Ravenserodd has been lost in a haze of misconception. And this might\nhave continued if Mr. J. R. Boyle had not gone exhaustively into the\nmatter, bringing together all the references to the Ravensers which\nhave been discovered.\n\nThere seems little doubt that the first place called Ravenser was a\nDanish settlement just within the Spurn Point, the name being a\ncompound of the raven of the Danish standard, and eyr or ore, meaning a\nnarrow strip of land between two waters. In an early Icelandic saga the\nsailing of the defeated remnant of Harold Hardrada's army from\nRavenser, after the defeat of the Norwegians at Stamford Bridge, is\nmentioned in the lines:\n\n  'The King the swift ships with the flood\n  Set out, with the autumn approaching,\n  And sailed from the port, called Hrafnseyrr (the raven tongue of land).'\n\nFrom this event of 1066 Ravenser must have remained a hamlet of small\nconsequence, for it is not heard of again for nearly two centuries, and\nthen only in connexion with the new Ravenser which had grown on a spit\nof land gradually thrown up by the tide within the spoon-shaped ridge\nof Spurn Head. On this new ground a vessel was wrecked some time in the\nearly part of the thirteenth century, and a certain man--the earliest\nrecorded Peggotty--converted it into a house, and even made it a\ntavern, where he sold food and drink to mariners. Then three or four\nhouses were built near the adapted hull, and following this a small\nport was created, its development being fostered by William de\nFortibus, Earl of Albemarl, the lord of the manor, with such success\nthat, by the year 1274, the place had grown to be of some importance,\nand a serious trade rival to Grimsby on the Lincolnshire coast. To\ndistinguish the two Ravensers the new place, which was almost on an\nisland, being only connected with the mainland by a bank composed of\nlarge yellow boulders and sand, was called Ravenser Odd, and in the\nChronicles of Meaux Abbey and other records the name is generally\nwritten Ravenserodd. The original place was about a mile away, and no\nlonger on the shore, and it is distinguished from the prosperous port\nas Ald Ravenser. Owing, however, to its insignificance in comparison to\nRavenserodd, the busy port, it is often merely referred to as Ravenser,\nspelt with many variations.\n\nThe extraordinarily rapid rise of Ravenserodd seems to have been due to\na remarkable keenness for business on the part of its citizens,\namounting, in the opinion of the Grimsby traders, to sharp practice.\nFor, being just within Spurn Head, the men of Ravenserodd would go out\nto incoming vessels bound for Grimsby, and induce them to sell their\ncargoes in Ravenserodd by all sorts of specious arguments, misquoting\nthe prices paid in the rival town. If their arguments failed, they\nwould force the ships to enter their harbour and trade with them,\nwhether they liked it or not. All this came out in the hearing of an\naction brought by the town of Grimsby against Ravenserodd. Although the\nplaintiffs seem to have made a very good case, the decision of the\nCourt was given in favour of the defendants, as it had not been shown\nthat any of their proceedings had broken the King's peace.\n\nThe story of the disaster, which appears to have happened between 1340\nand 1350, is told by the monkish compiler of the Chronicles of Meaux.\nTranslated from the original Latin the account is headed:\n\n'Concerning the consumption of the town of Ravensere Odd and concerning\nthe effort towards the diminution of the tax of the church of Esyngton.\n\n'But in those days, the whole town of Ravensere Odd.. was totally\nannihilated by the floods of the Humber and the inundations of the\ngreat sea ... and when that town of Ravensere Odd, in which we had half\nan acre of land built upon, and also the chapel of that town,\npertaining to the said church of Esyngton, were exposed to demolition\nduring the few preceding years, those floods and inundations of the\nsea, within a year before the destruction of that town, increasing in\ntheir accustomed way without limit fifteen fold, announcing the\nswallowing up of the said town, and sometimes exceeding beyond measure\nthe height of the town, and surrounding it like a wall on every side,\nthreatened the final destruction of that town. And so, with this\nterrible vision of waters seen on every side, the enclosed persons,\nwith the reliques, crosses, and other ecclesiastical ornaments, which\nremained secretly in their possession and accompanied by the viaticum\nof the body of Christ in the hands of the priest, flocking together,\nmournfully imploring grace, warded off at that time their destruction.\nAnd afterwards, daily removing thence with their possession, they left\nthat town totally without defence, to be shortly swallowed up, which,\nwith a short intervening period of time by those merciless tempestuous\nfloods, was irreparably destroyed.'\n\nThe traders and inhabitants generally moved to Kingston-upon-Hull and\nother towns, as the sea forced them to seek safer quarters.\n\nWhen Henry of Lancaster landed with his retinue in 1399 within Spurn\nHead, the whole scene was one of complete desolation, and the only\nincident recorded is his meeting with a hermit named Matthew Danthorp,\nwho was at the time building a chapel.\n\nThe very beautiful spire of Patrington church guides us easily along a\nwinding lane from Easington until the whole building shows over the\nmeadows.\n\nWe seem to have stumbled upon a cathedral standing all alone in this\ndiminishing land, scarcely more than two miles from the Humber and less\nthan four from the sea. No one quarrels with the title 'The Queen of\nHolderness,' nor with the far greater claim that Patrington is the most\nbeautiful village church in England. With the exception of the east\nwindow, which is Perpendicular, nearly the whole structure was built in\nthe Decorated period; and in its perfect proportion, its wealth of\ndetail and marvellous dignity, it is a joy to the eye within and\nwithout. The plan is cruciform, and there are aisles to the transepts\nas well as the nave, giving a wealth of pillars to the interior. Above\nthe tower rises a tall stone spire, enriched, at a third of its height,\nwith what might be compared to an earl's coronet, the spikes being\nrepresented by crocketed pinnacles--the terminals of the supporting\npillars. The interior is seen at its loveliest on those afternoons when\nthat rich yellow light Mr. W. Dean Howells so aptly compares with the\ncolour of the daffodil is flooding the nave and aisles, and glowing on\nthe clustered columns.\n\nIn the eastern aisles of each arm of the transept there were three\nchantry chapels, whose piscinae remain. The central chapel in the south\ntransept is a most interesting and beautiful object, having a recess\nfor the altar, with three richly ornamented niches above. In the\ngroined roof above, the central boss is formed into a hollow pendant of\nconsiderable interest. On the three sides are carvings representing the\nAnnunciation, St. Catherine of Alexandria, and St. John the Baptist,\nand on the under side is a Tudor rose. Sir Henry Dryden, in the\n_Archaeological Journal_, states that this pendant was used for a\nlamp to light the altar below, but he points out, at the same time,\nthat the sacrist would have required a ladder to reach it. An\nalternative suggestion made by others is that this niche contained a\nrelic where it would have been safe even if visible.\n\nPatrington village is of fair size, with a wide street; and although\nlacking any individual houses calling for comment, it is a pleasant\nplace, with the prevailing warm reds of roofs and walls to be found in\nall the Holderness towns.\n\nOn our way to Hedon, where the 'King of Holderness' awaits us, we pass\nWinestead Church, where Andrew Marvell was baptized in 1621, and where\nwe may see the memorials of a fine old family--the Hildyards of\nWinestead, who came there in the reign of Henry VI.\n\nThe stately tower of Hedon's church is conspicuous from far away; and\nwhen we reach the village we are much impressed by its solemn beauty,\nand by the atmosphere of vanished greatness clinging to the place that\nwas decayed even in Leland's days, when Henry VIII, still reigned. No\ndoubt the silting up of the harbour and creeks brought down Hedon from\nher high place, so that the retreat of the sea in this place was\nscarcely less disastrous to the town's prosperity than its advance had\nbeen at Ravenserodd; and possibly the waters of the Humber, glutted\nwith their rapacity close to Spurn Head, deposited much of the\ndisintegrated town in the waterway of the other.\n\nThe nave of the church is Decorated, and has beautiful windows of that\nperiod. The transept is Early English, and so also is the chancel, with\na fine Perpendicular east window filled with glass of the same subtle\ncolours we saw at Patrington.\n\nIn approaching nearer to Hull, we soon find ourselves in the outer zone\nof its penumbra of smoke, with fields on each side of the road waiting\nfor works and tall shafts, which will spread the unpleasant gloom of\nthe city still further into the smiling country. The sun becomes\ncopper-coloured, and the pure, transparent light natural to Holderness\nloses its vigour. Tall and slender chimneys emitting lazy coils of\nblackness stand in pairs or in groups, with others beyond, indistinct\nbehind a veil of steam and smoke, and at their feet grovels a confusion\nof buildings sending forth jets and mushrooms of steam at a thousand\npoints. Hemmed in by this industrial belt and compact masses of\ncellular brickwork, where labour skilled and unskilled sleeps and rears\nits offspring, is the nucleus of the Royal borough of Kingston-upon-Hull,\nfounded by Edward I at the close of the thirteenth century.\n\nIt would scarcely have been possible that any survivals of the\nEdwardian port could have been retained in the astonishing commercial\ndevelopment the city has witnessed, particularly in the last century;\nand Hull has only one old street which can lay claim to even the\nsmallest suggestion of picturesqueness. The renaissance of English\narchitecture is beginning to make itself felt in the chief streets,\nwhere some good buildings are taking the places of ugly fronts; and\nthere are one or two more ambitious schemes of improvement bringing\ndignity into the city; but that, with the exception of two churches, is\npractically all.\n\nWhen we see the old prints of the city surrounded by its wall defended\nwith towers, and realize the numbers of curious buildings that filled\nthe winding streets--the windmills, the churches and monasteries--we\nunderstand that the old Hull has gone almost as completely as\nRavenserodd. It was in Hull that Michael, a son of Sir William de la\nPole of Ravenserodd, its first Mayor, founded a monastery for thirteen\nCarthusian monks, and also built himself, in 1379, a stately house in\nLowgate opposite St. Mary's Church. Nothing remains of this great brick\nmansion, which was described as a palace, and lodged Henry VIII during\nhis visit in 1540. Even St. Mary's Church has been so largely rebuilt\nand restored that its interest is much diminished.\n\nThe great Perpendicular Church of Holy Trinity in the market-place is,\ntherefore, the one real link between the modern city and the little\ntown founded in the thirteenth century. It is a cruciform building and\nhas a fine central tower, and is remarkable in having transepts and\nchancel built externally of brick as long ago as the Decorated Period.\nThe De la Pole mansion, of similar date, was also constructed with\nbrick--no doubt from the brickyard outside the North Gate owned by the\nfounder of the family fortunes. The pillars and capitals of the arcades\nof both the nave and chancel are thin and unsatisfying to the eye, and\nthe interior as a whole, although spacious, does not convey any\npleasing sensations. The slenderness of the columns was necessary, it\nappears, owing to the soft and insecure ground, which necessitated a\npile foundation and as light a weight above as could be devised.\n\nWilliam Wilberforce, the liberator of slaves, was born in 1759 in a\nlarge house still standing in High Street, and a tall Doric column\nsurmounted by a statue perpetuates his memory, in the busiest corner of\nthe city. The old red-brick Grammar School bears the date 1583, and is\na pleasant relief from the dun-coloured monotony of the greater part of\nthe city.\n\nIn going westward we come, at the village of North Cave, to the\nsouthern horn of the crescent of the Wolds. All the way to Howden they\nshow as a level-topped ridge to the north, and the lofty tower of the\nchurch stands out boldly for many miles before we reach the town. The\ncobbled streets at the east end of the church possess a few antique\nhouses coloured with warm ochre, and it is over and between these that\nwe have the first close view of the ruined chancel. The east window has\nlost most of its tracery, and has the appearance of a great archway;\nits date, together with the whole of the chancel, is late Decorated,\nbut the exquisite little chapterhouse is later still, and may be better\ndescribed as early Perpendicular. It is octagonal in plan, and has in\neach side a window with an ogee arch above. The stones employed are\nremarkably large. The richly moulded arcading inside, consisting of\nogee arches, has been exposed to the weather for so long, owing to the\nloss of the vaulting above, that the lovely detail is fast\ndisappearing.\n\nAbout four miles from Howden, near the banks of the Derwent, stand the\nruins of Wressle Castle. In every direction the country is spread out\ngreen and flat, and, except for the towers and spires of the churches,\nit is practically featureless. To the north the horizon is brought\ncloser by the rounded outlines of the wolds; everywhere else you seem\nto be looking into infinity, as in the Fen Country.\n\nThe castle that stands in the midst of this belt of level country is\nthe only one in the East Riding, and although now a mere fragment of\nthe former building, it still retains a melancholy dignity. Since a\nfire in 1796 the place has been left an empty shell, the two great\ntowers and the walls that join them being left without floors or roofs.\n\nWressle was one of the two castles in Yorkshire belonging to the\nPercys, and at the time of the Civil War still retained its feudal\ngrandeur unimpaired. Its strength was, however, considered by the\nParliament to be a danger to the peace, despite the fact that the Earl\nof Northumberland, its owner, was not on the Royalist side, and an\norder was issued in 1648 commanding that it should be destroyed.\nPontefract Castle had been suddenly seized for the King in June during\nthat year, and had held out so persistently that any fortified\nbuilding, even if owned by a supporter, was looked upon as a possible\nsource of danger to the Parliamentary Government. An order was\ntherefore sent to Lord Northumberland's officers at Wressle commanding\nthem to pull down all but the south side of the castle. That this was\ndone with great thoroughness, despite the most strenuous efforts made\nby the Earl to save his ancient seat, may be seen to-day in the fact\nthat, of the four sides of the square, three have totally disappeared,\nexcept for slight indications in the uneven grass.\n\nThe saddest part of the story concerns the portion of the buildings\nspared by the Cromwellians. This, we are told, remained until a century\nago nearly in the same state as in the year 1512, when Henry Percy, the\nfifth Earl, commenced the compilation of his wonderful Household Book.\nThe Great Chamber, or Dining Room, the Drawing Chamber, the Chapel, and\nother apartments, still retained their richly-carved ceilings, and the\nsides of the rooms were ornamented with a 'great profusion of ancient\nsculpture, finely executed in wood, exhibiting the bearings, crests,\nbadges, and devises, of the Percy family, in a great variety of forms,\nset off with all the advantages of painting, gilding and imagery.'\n\nThere was a moat on three sides, a square tower at each corner, and a\nfifth containing the gateway presumably on the eastward face. In one\nof the corner towers was the buttery, pantry, 'pastery,' larder, and\nkitchen; in the south-easterly one was the chapel; and in the\ntwo-storied building and the other tower of the south side were the\nchief apartments, where my lord Percy dined, entertained, and ordered\nhis great household with a vast care and minuteness of detail. We would\nprobably have never known how elaborate were the arrangements for the\nconduct and duties of every one, from my lord's eldest son down to his\nlowest servant, had not the Household Book of the fifth Earl of\nNorthumberland been, by great good fortune, preserved intact. By\nreading this extraordinary compilation it is possible to build up a\ncomplete picture of the daily life at Wressle Castle in the year 1512\nand later.\n\nFrom this account we know that the bare stone walls of the apartments\nwere hung with tapestries, and that these, together with the beds and\nbedding, all the kitchen pots and pans, cloths, and odds and ends, the\naltar hangings, surplices, and apparatus of the chapel--in fact, every\none's bed, tools, and clothing--were removed in seventeen carts each\ntime my lord went from one of his castles to another. The following is\none of the items, the spelling being typical of the whole book:\n\n'ITEM.--Yt is Ordynyd at every Remevall that the Deyn Subdean\nPrestes Gentilmen and Children of my Lordes Chapell with the Yoman and\nGrome of the Vestry shall have apontid theime ii Cariadges at every\nRemevall Viz. One for ther Beddes Viz. For vi Prests iii beddes after\nii to a Bedde For x Gentillmen of the Chapell v Beddes after ii to a\nBedde And for vi Children ii Beddes after iii to a Bedde And a Bedde\nfor the Yoman and Grom o' th Vestry In al xi Beddes for the furst\nCariage. And the ii'de Cariage for ther Aparells and all outher ther\nStuff and to have no mo Cariage allowed them but onely the said ii\nCariages allowid theime.'\n\nWe have seen the astonishingly tall spire of Hemingbrough Church from\nthe battlements of Wressle Castle, and when we have given a last look\nat the grey walls and the windows, filled with their enormously heavy\ntracery, we betake ourselves along a pleasant lane that brings us at\nlength to the river. The soaring spire is 120 feet in height, or twice\nthat of the tower, and this hugeness is perhaps out of proportion with\nthe rest of the building; yet I do not think for a moment that this\ngreat spire could have been different without robbing the church of its\nstriking and pleasing individuality. There are Transitional Norman\narches at the east end of the nave, but most of the work is Decorated\nor Perpendicular. The windows of the latter period in the south\ntransept are singularly happy in the wonderful amount of light they\nallow to flood through their pale yellow glass. The oak bench-ends in\nthe nave, which are carved with many devices, and the carefully\nrepaired stalls in the choir, are Perpendicular, and no doubt belong to\nthe period when the church was a collegiate foundation of Durham.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\nTHE DERWENT AND THE HOWARDIAN HILLS\n\n\nMalton is the only town on the Derwent, and it is made up of three\nseparate places--Old Malton, a picturesque village; New Malton, a\npleasant and oldfashioned town; and Norton, a curiously extensive\nsuburb. The last has a Norman font in its modern church, and there its\nattractions begin and end. New Malton has a fortunate position on a\nslope well above the lush grass by the river, and in this way arranges\nthe backs of its houses with unconscious charm. The two churches,\nalthough both containing Norman pillars and arches, have been so\nextensively rebuilt that their antiquarian interest is slight.\n\nOn account of its undoubted signs of Roman occupation in the form of\ntwo rectangular camps, and its situation at the meeting-place of some\nthree or four Roman roads, New Malton has been with great probability\nidentified with the _Delgovitia_ of the Antonine Itinerary.\n\nOld Malton is a cheerful and well-kept village, with antique cottages\nhere and there, roofed with mossy thatch. It makes a pretty picture as\nyou come along the level road from Pickering, with a group of trees on\nthe left and the tower of the Priory Church appearing sedately above\nthe humble roofs. A Gilbertine monastery was founded here about the\nmiddle of the twelfth century, during the lifetime of St. Gilbert of\nSempringham in Lincolnshire, who during the last year of his long life\nsent a letter to the Canons of Malton, addressing them as 'My dear\nsons.' Little remains of Malton Priory with the exception of the\nchurch, built at the very beginning of the Early English period. Of the\ntwo western towers, the southern one only survives, and both aisles,\ntwo bays of the nave, and everything else to the east has gone. The\nabbreviated nave now serves as a parish church.\n\nBetween Malton and the Vale of York there lies that stretch of hilly\ncountry we saw from the edge of the Wolds, for some time past known as\nthe Howardian Hills, from Castle Howard which stands in their midst.\nThe many interests that this singularly remote neighbourhood contains\ncan be realized by making such a peregrination as we made through the\nWolds.\n\nThere is no need to avoid the main road south of Malton. It has a\npark-like appearance, with its large trees and well-kept grass on each\nside, and the glimpses of the wooded valley of the Derwent on the left\nare most beautiful. On the right we look across the nearer grasslands\ninto the great park of Castle Howard, and catch glimpses between the\ndistant masses of trees of Lord Carlisle's stately home. The old castle\nof the Howards having been burnt down, Vanbrugh, the greatest architect\nof early Georgian times, designed the enormous building now standing.\nIn 1772 Horace Walpole compressed the glories of the place into a few\nsentences. '... I can say with exact truth,' he writes to George\nSelwyn,' that I never was so agreeably astonished in my days as with\nthe first vision of the whole place. I had heard of Vanburgh, and how\nSir Thomas Robinson and he stood spitting and swearing at one another;\nnay, I had heard of glorious woods, and Lord Strafford alone had told me\nthat I should see one of the finest places in Yorkshire; but nobody ...\nhad informed me that should at one view see a palace, a town, a\nfortified city; temples on high places, woods worthy of being each\nmetropolis of the Druids, vales connected to hills by other woods, the\nnoblest lawn in the world fenced by half the horizon, and a mausoleum\nthat would tempt one to be buried alive; in short, I have seen gigantic\nplaces before, but never a sublime one.'\n\nThe style is that of the Corinthian renaissance, and Walpole's\ndescription applies as much to-day as when he wrote. The pictures\ninclude some of the masterpieces of Reynolds, Lely, Vandyck, Rubens,\nTintoretto, Canaletto, Giovanni Bellini Domenichino and Annibale\nCaracci.\n\nTwo or three miles to the south, the road finds itself close to the\ndeep valley of the Derwent. A short turning embowered with tall trees\nwhose dense foliage only allows a soft green light to filter through,\ngoes steeply down to the river. We cross the deep and placid river by a\nstone bridge, and come to the Priory gateway. It is a stately ruin\npartially mantled with ivy, and it preserves in a most remarkable\nfashion the detail of its outward face.\n\nThe mossy steps of the cross just outside the gateway are, according to\na tradition in one of the Cottonian manuscripts, associated with the\nevent which led to the founding of the Abbey by Walter Espec, lord of\nHelmsley. He had, we are told, an only son, also named Walter, who was\nfond of riding with exceeding swiftness.\n\nOne day when galloping at a great pace his horse stumbled near a small\nstone, and young Espec was brought violently to the ground, breaking\nhis neck and leaving his father childless. The grief-stricken parent is\nsaid to have found consolation in the founding of three abbeys, one of\nthem being at Kirkham, where the fatal accident took place.\n\nOf the church and conventual buildings only a few fragments remain to\ntell us that this secluded spot by the Derwent must have possessed one\nof the most stately monasteries in Yorkshire. One tall lancet is all\nthat has been left of the church; and of the other buildings a few\nwalls, a beautiful Decorated lavatory, and a Norman doorway alone\nsurvive.\n\nStamford Bridge, which is reached by no direct road from Kirkham Abbey,\nis so historically fascinating that we must leave the hills for a time\nto see the site of that momentous battle between Harold, the English\nKing, and the Norwegian army, under Harold Hardrada and Harold's\nbrother Tostig. The English host made their sudden attack from the\nright bank of the river, and the Northmen on that side, being partially\narmed, were driven back across a narrow wooden bridge. One Northman, it\nappears, played the part of Horatius in keeping the English at bay for\na time. When he fell, the Norwegians had formed up their shield-wall on\nthe left bank of the river, no doubt on the rising ground just above\nthe village. That the final and decisive phase of the battle took place\nthere Freeman has no doubt.\n\nStamford Bridge being, as already mentioned, the most probable site of\nthe Roman _Derventio_, it was natural that some village should\nhave grown up at such an important crossing of the river.\n\nAn unfrequented road through a belt of picturesque woodland goes from\nStamford Bridge past Sand Hutton to the highway from York to Malton. If\nwe take the branch-road to Flaxton, we soon see, over the distant\ntrees, the lofty towers of Sheriff Hutton Castle, and before long reach\na silent village standing near the imposing ruin. The great rectangular\nspace, enclosed by huge corner-towers and half-destroyed curtain walls,\nis now utilized as the stackyard of a farm, and the effect as we\napproach by a footpath is most remarkable. It seems scarcely possible\nthat this is the castle Leland described with so much enthusiasm. 'I\nsaw no House in the North so like a Princely Logginges,' he says, and\nalso describes 'the stately Staire up to the Haul' as being very\nmagnificent.\n\nWe come to the north-west tower, and look beyond its ragged outline to\nthe distant country lying to the west, grass and arable land with trees\nappearing to grow so closely together at a short distance, that we have\nno difficulty in realizing that this was the ancient Forest of Galtres,\nwhich reached from Sheriff Hutton and Easingwold to the very gates of\nYork.\n\nIn the complete loneliness of the ruins, with the silence only\nintensified by the sounds of fluttering wings in the tops of the\ntowers, we in imagination sweep away the haystacks and reinstate the\nformer grandeur of the fortress in the days of Ralph Neville, first\nEarl of Westmorland. It was he who rebuilt the Norman castle of Bertram\nde Bulmer, Sheriff of Yorkshire, on a grander scale. Upon the death of\nWarwick, the Kingmaker, in 1471, Edward IV gave the castle and manor of\nSheriff Hutton to his brother Richard, afterwards Richard III, and it\nwas he who kept Edward IV's eldest child Elizabeth a prisoner within\nthese massive walls. The unfortunate Edward, Earl of Warwick, the\neldest son of George, Duke of Clarence, when only eight years old, was\nalso incarcerated here for about three years. Richard III, the usurper,\nwhen he lost his only son, had thought of making this boy his heir, but\nthe unfortunate child was passed over in favour of John de la Pole,\nEarl of Lincoln, and remained in close confinement at Sheriff Hutton\nuntil August, 1485, when the Battle of Bosworth placed Henry VII on the\nthrone. Sir Robert Willoughby soon afterwards arrived at the castle,\nand took the little Earl to London. Princess Elizabeth was also sent\nfor at the same time, but whether both the Royal prisoners travelled\ntogether does not appear to be recorded. The terrible pathos of this\nsimultaneous removal from the castle lay in the fact that Edward was to\nplay the part of Pharaoh's chief baker, and Elizabeth that of the chief\nbutler; for, after fourteen years in the Tower of London, the Earl of\nWarwick was beheaded, while the King, after five months, raised up\nElizabeth to be his Queen. Even in those callous times the fate of the\nPrince was considered cruel, for it was pointed out after his\nexecution, that, as he had been kept in imprisonment since he was eight\nyears old, and had no knowledge or experience of the world, he could\nhardly have been accused of any malicious purpose. So cut off from all\nthe common sights of everyday life was the miserable boy that it was\nsaid 'that he could not discern a goose from a capon.'\n\nPortions of the Augustinian Priory are built into the house called\nNewburgh Priory, and these include the walls of the kitchen and some\ncurious carvings showing on the exterior. William of Newburgh, the\nhistorian, whose writings end abruptly in 1198--probably the year of\nhis death--was a canon of the Priory, and spent practically his whole\nlife there. In his preface he denounced the inaccuracies and fictions\nof the writings of Geoffrey of Monmouth. At the Dissolution Newburgh\nwas given by Henry VIII to Anthony Belasyse, the punning motto of whose\nfamily was _Bonne et belle assez_. One of his descendants was\ncreated Lord Fauconberg by Charles I, and the peerage became extinct in\n1815, on the death of the seventh to bear the title. The last\nowner--Sir George Wombwell, Bart.--inherited the property from his\ngrandmother, who was a daughter of the last Lord Fauconberg. Sir George\nwas one of the three surviving officers who took part in the charge of\nthe Light Brigade at Balaclava on October 25, 1854.\n\nThe late Duke of Cambridge paid several visits to Newburgh, occupying\nwhat is generally called 'the Duke's Room.' Rear-Admiral Lord Adolphus\nFitz-Clarence, whose father was George IV, died in 1856 in the bed\nstill kept in this room. In a glass case, at the end of a long gallery\ncrowded with interest, are kept the uniform and accoutrements Sir\nGeorge wore at Balaclava.\n\nThe second Lord Fauconberg, who was raised from Viscount to the rank of\nEarl in 1689, was warmly attached to the Parliamentary side in the\nCivil War, and took as his second wife Cromwell's third daughter, Mary.\nThis close connexion with the Protector explains the inscription upon a\nvault immediately over one of the entrances to the Priory. On a small\nmetal plate is written:\n\n'In this vault are Cromwell's bones, brought here, it is believed,\nby his daughter Mary, Countess of Fauconberg, at the Restoration, when\nhis remains were disinterred from Westminster Abbey.'\n\nThe letters 'R.I.P.' below are only just visible, an attempt having\nbeen made to erase them. No one seems to have succeeded in finally\nclearing up the mystery of the last resting-place of Cromwell's\nremains. The body was exhumed from its tomb in Henry VII.'s Chapel at\nWestminster, and hung on the gallows at Tyburn on January 30, 1661--the\ntwelfth anniversary of the execution of Charles I--and the head was\nplaced upon a pole raised above St. Stephen's Hall, and had a separate\nhistory, which is known. Lord Fauconberg is said to have become a\nRoyalist at the Restoration, and if this were true, he would perhaps\nhave been able to secure the decapitated remains of his father-in-law,\nafter their burial at the foot of the gallows at Tyburn. It has often\nbeen stated that a sword, bridle, and other articles belonging to\nCromwell are preserved at Newburgh Priory, but this has been\nconclusively shown to be a mistake, the objects having been traced to\none of the Belasyses.\n\nCoxwold has that air of neatness and well-preserved antiquity which is\nso often to be found in England where the ancient owners of the land\nstill spend a large proportion of their time in the great house of the\nvillage. There is a very wide street, with picturesque old houses on\neach side, which rises gently towards the church. A great tree with\ntwisted branches--whether oak or elm, I cannot remember--stands at the\ntop of the street opposite the churchyard, and adds much charm to the\nvillage. The inn has recently lost its thatch, but is still a quaint\nlittle house with the typical Yorkshire gable, finished with a stone\nball. On the great sign fixed to the wall are the arms and motto of the\nFauconbergs, and the interior is full of old-fashioned comfort and\ncleanliness. Nearly opposite stand the almshouses, dated 1662.\n\nThe church is chiefly Perpendicular, with a rather unusual octagonal\ntower. In the eighteenth century the chancel was rebuilt, but the\nFauconberg monuments in it were replaced. Sir William Belasyse, who\nreceived the Newburgh property from his uncle, the first owner, died in\n1603, and his fine Jacobean tomb, painted in red, black and gold, shows\nhim with a beard and ruff. His portrait hangs in one of the\ndrawing-rooms of the Priory. The later monuments, adorned with great\ncarved figures, are all interesting. They encroach so much on the space\nin the narrow chancel that a most curious method for lengthening the\ncommunion-rail has been resorted to--that of bringing forward from the\ncentre a long narrow space enclosed with the rails. From the pulpit\nLaurence Sterne preached when he was incumbent here for the last eight\nyears of his life. He came to Coxwold in 1760, and took up his abode in\nthe charming old house he quaintly called 'Shandy Hall.' It is on the\nopposite side of the road to the church, and has a stone roof and one\nof those enormous chimneys so often to be found in the older farmsteads\nof the north of England. Sterne's study was the very small room on the\nright-hand side of the entrance doorway; it now contains nothing\nassociated with him, and there is more pleasure in viewing the outside\nof the house than is gained by obtaining permission to enter.\n\nDuring his last year at Coxwold, when his rollicking, boisterous\nspirits were much subdued, Sterne completed his 'Sentimental Journey.'\nHe also relished more than before the country delights of the village,\ndescribing it in one of his letters as 'a land of plenty.' Every day he\ndrove out in his chaise, drawn by two long-tailed horses, until one day\nhis postilion met with an accident from one his master's pistols, which\nwent off in his hand. 'He instantly fell on his knees,' wrote Sterne,\n'and said \"Our Father, which art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name\"--at\nwhich, like a good Christian, he stopped, not remembering any more of\nit.'\n\nThe beautiful Hambleton Hills begin to rise up steeply about two miles\nnorth of Coxwold, and there we come upon the ruins of Byland Abbey.\nTheir chief feature is the west end of the church, with its one turret\npointing a finger to the heavens, and the lower portion of a huge\ncircular window, without any sign of tracery. This fine example of\nEarly English work is illustrated here. The whole building appears to\nbe the original structure built soon after 1177, for it shows\neverywhere the transition from Norman to Early English which was taking\nplace at the close of the twelfth century. The founders were twelve\nmonks and an abbot, named Gerald, who left Furness Abbey in 1134, and\nafter some vicissitudes came to the notice of Gundred, the mother of\nRoger de Mowbray, either by recommendation or by accident. One account\npictures the holy men on their way to Archbishop Thurstan at York, with\nall their belongings in one wagon drawn by eight oxen, and describes\nhow they chanced to meet Gundreda's steward as they journeyed near\nThirsk. Through Gundreda the monks went to Hode, and after four years\nreceived land at Old Byland, where they wished to build an abbey. This\nposition was found to be too close to Rievaulx, whose bells could be\ntoo plainly heard, so that five years later the restless community\nobtained a fresh grant of land from De Mowbray, at a place called\nStocking, where they remained until they came to Byland.\n\nRecent excavation and preservation operations carried out by H.M.\nOffice of Works have added many lost features to the ruins including\nthe exposure of the whole of the floor level of the church hitherto\nburied under grassy mounds. Almost any of the roads to the east go\nthrough surprisingly attractive scenery. There are heathery commons,\nroads embowered with great spreading trees, or running along open\nhill-sides, and frequently lovely views of the Hambletons and more\ndistant moors in the north.\n\nIn scenery of this character stands Gilling Castle, the seat of the\nFairfaxes for some three centuries. It possesses one of the most\nbeautiful Elizabethan dining-rooms to be found in this country. The\nwalls are panelled to a considerable height, the remaining space being\nfilled with paintings of decorative trees, one for each wapentake of\nYorkshire. Each tree is covered with the coats of arms of the great\nfamilies of that time in the wapentake. The brilliant colours against\nthe dark green of the trees form a most suitable relief to the uniform\nbrown of the panelling. In addition to the charm of the room itself,\nthe view from the windows into a deep hollow clothed with dense\nfoliage, with a distant glimpse of country beyond, is unlike anything I\nhave seen elsewhere.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\n\nA BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF THE CITY OF YORK\n\n\nThoroughly to master the story of the city of York is to know\npractically the whole of English history. Its importance from the\nearliest times has made York the centre of all the chief events that\nhave take place in the North of England; and right up to the time of\nthe Civil War the great happenings of the country always affected York,\nand brought the northern capital into the vortex of affairs. And yet,\ndespite the prominent part the city has played in ecclesiastical,\nmilitary, and civil affairs through so many centuries of strife, it has\ncontrived to retain a medieval character in many ways unequalled by any\ntown in the kingdom. This is due, in a large measure, to the fortunate\nfact that York is well outside the area of coal and iron, and has never\nbecome a manufacturing centre, the few factories it now possesses being\nunable to rob the city of its romance and charm.\n\nThere could scarcely be a better approach to such a city than that\nfurnished by the railway-station. Immediately outside the building, we\nare confronted with a sloping grassy bank, crowned with a battlemented\nwall, and we discover that only through its bars and posterns can we\nenter the city, and feast our eyes on the relics of the Middle Ages\nwithin. It is no dummy wall put up to please visitors, for right down\nto the siege of 1644, when the Parliamentary army battered Walmgate Bar\nwith their artillery, it has withstood many assaults and investments.\nRepairs and restorations have been carried out at various times during\nthe last century, and additional arches have been inserted by the bars\nand where openings have been made necessary, luckily without robbing\nthe walls of their picturesqueness or interest. The bright, creamy\ncolour of the stonework is a pleasant reminder of the purity of York's\natmosphere, for should the smoke of the city ever increase to the\nextent of even the smaller manufacturing towns, the beauty and glamour\nof every view would gradually disappear.\n\nOf the Roman legionary base called Eboracum there still remain parts of\nthe wall and the lower portion of a thirteen-sided angle bastion while\nembedded in the medieval earthen ramparts there is a great deal of\nRoman walling.\n\nThe four chief gateways and the one or two posterns and towers have\neach a particular fascination, and when we begin to taste the joys of\nYork, we cannot decide whether the Minster, the gateways, the narrow\nstreets full of overhanging houses, or the churches, all of which we\nknow from prints and pictures, call us most. In our uncertainty we\nreach a wide arch across the roadway, and on the inner side find a\nflight of stone steps leading to the top of the wall. We climb them,\nand find spread out before us our first notable view of the city. The\nbattlemented stone parapet of the wall stops at a tower standing on the\nbank of the river, and on the further side rises another, while above\nthe old houses, closely packed together beyond Lendal Bridge, appear\nthe stately towers of the Minster.\n\nOn the plan of keeping the best wine until the last, we turn our backs\nto the Minster and go along the wall, trying to imagine the scene when\nopen country came right up to encircling fortifications, and within\nwere to be found only the picturesque houses of the fourteenth and\nfifteenth centuries, many of them new in those days, and yet so\nadmirably designed as to be beautiful without the additional charm of\nage. Then, suddenly, we find no need to imagine any longer, having\nreached the splendid twelfth-century structure of Micklegate Bar. Its\nbold turrets are pierced with arrow-slits, and above the battlements\nare three stone figures. The archway is a survival of the Norman city.\nIn gazing at this imposing gateway, which confronted all who approached\nYork from the south, we seem to hear the clanking sound of the\nportcullis as it is raised and lowered to allow the entry of some\nPlantagenet sovereign and his armed retinue, and, remembering that\nabove this gate were fixed the dripping heads of Richard, Duke of York,\nafter his defeat at Wakefield; the Earl of Devon, after Towton, and a\nlong list of others of noble birth, we realize that in those times of\npageantry, when the most perfect artistry appeared in costume, in\narchitecture, and in ornament of every description, there was a\nblood-thirstiness that makes us shiver.\n\nThe wall stops short at Skeldergate Bridge, where we cross the river\nand come to the castle. There is a frowning gateway that boasts no\nantiquity, and the courtyard within is surrounded by the\neighteenth-century assize courts, a military prison, and the governor's\nhouse. Hemmed in by these buildings and a massive wall is the\nartificial mound surmounted by the tottering castle keep. It is called\nClifford's Tower because Francis Clifford, Earl of Cumberland, restored\nthe ruined wall in 1642. The Royal Arms and those of the Cliffords can\nstill be seen above the doorway, but the structure as a whole dates\nfrom the twelfth century, and in 1190 was the scene of a horrible\ntragedy, when the people of York determined to massacre the Jews. Those\nmerchants who escaped from their houses with their families and were\nnot killed in the streets fled to the castle, but finding that they\nwere unable to defend the place, they burnt the buildings and destroyed\nthemselves. A few exceptions consented to become Christians, but were\nafterwards killed by the infuriated townspeople.\n\nOn the opposite side of the Foss, a stream that joins the Ouse just\noutside the city, the walls recommence at the Fishergate Postern, a\npicturesque tower with a tiled roof. After this the line of\nfortifications turns to the north, and Walmgate Bar shows its\nbattlemented turrets and its barbican, the only one which has survived.\nThe gateway itself, on the outside, is very similar in design to\nMicklegate and Monk Bars, and was built in the thirteenth century;\ninside, however, the stonework is hidden behind a quaint Elizabethan\ntimber front supported on two pillars. This gate, as already mentioned,\nwas much battered during the siege of 1644, which lasted six weeks. It\nwas soon after the Royalists' defeat at Marston Moor that York\ncapitulated, and fortunately Sir Thomas Fairfax gave the city excellent\nterms, and saved it from being plundered. Through him, too, the Minster\nsuffered very little damage from the Parliamentary artillery, and the\nonly disaster of the siege was the spoiling of the Marygate Tower, near\nSt. Mary's Abbey, many of the records it contained being destroyed.\nNumbers were saved through the rewards Fairfax offered to any soldier\nwho rescued a document from the rubbish, and as the transcribing of all\nthe records had just been completed by one Dodsworth, to whom Fairfax\nhad paid a salary for some years, the loss was reduced to a minimum.\n\nWalmgate leads straight to the bridge over the Foss, and just beyond we\ncome to fine old Merchants' Hall, established in 1373 by John de\nRowcliffe. The panelled rooms and the chapel, built early in the\nfifteenth century, and many interesting details, are beautiful\nsurvivals of the days when the trade guilds of the city flourished. On\nthe left, a few yards further on, at the corner of the Pavement, is the\ninteresting little church of All Saints, whose octagonal lantern was\nilluminated at night as a guiding light to travellers on their way to\nYork. The north door has a sanctuary knocker.\n\nThe narrowest and most antique of the old streets of York are close to\nAll Saints' Church, and the first we enter is the Shambles, where\nbutchers' shops with slaughter-houses behind still line both sides of\nthe way. On the left, as we go towards the Minster, one of the shops\nhas a depressed ogee arch of oak, and great curved brackets across the\npassage leading to the back. All the houses are timber-framed, and\neither plastered and coloured with warm ochre wash, or have the spaces\nbetween the oak filled with dark red brick. In the Little Shambles,\ntoo, there are many curious details in the high gables, pargeting and\noriel windows. Petergate is a charming old street, though not quite so\nrich in antique houses as Stonegate, illustrated here. A large number\nof shops in Stonegate sell 'antiques,' and, as the pleasure of buying\nan old pair of silver candlesticks is greatly enhanced by the knowledge\nthat the purchase will be associated with the old-world streets of\nYork, there is every reason for believing that these quaint houses are\nin no danger. In walking through these streets we are very little\ndisturbed by traffic, and the atmosphere of centuries long dead seems\nto surround us. We constantly get peeps of the great central tower of\nthe Minster or the Early English south transept, and there are so many\ncharming glimpses down passages and along narrow streets that it is\nhard to realize that we are not in some town in Normandy such as\nLisieux or Falaise, and yet those towns have no walls, and Falaise, has\nonly one gateway, and Lisieux none. It is surely justifiable to ask, in\nKingsley's words, 'Why go gallivanting with the nations round' until\nyou have at least seen what England can show at York and Chester?\nSkirting the west end of the Minster, and having a close view of its\ntwo towers built in late Perpendicular times, which are not so\nbeautiful as those at Beverley, we come to what is in many ways the\nmost romantic of all the medieval survivals of York. There is an open\nspace faced by Bootham Bar, the chief gateway towards the north; behind\nare the weathered red roofs of many antique houses, and beyond them\nrises the stately mass of the Minster. The barbican was removed in\n1831, and the interior has been much restored, without, however,\ndestroying its fascination. We can still see the portcullis and look\nout of the narrow windows through which the watchmen have gazed in\nearly times at approaching travellers. It was at this gateway that\narmed guides could be obtained to protect those who were journeying\nnorthwards through the Forest of Galtres, where wolves were to be\nfeared in the Middle Ages.\n\nFacing Bootham Bar is a modern public building judiciously screened by\ntrees, and adjoining it to the south stands the beautiful old house\nwhere, before the Dissolution, the abbots of St. Mary's Abbey lived in\nstately fashion.\n\nWhen Henry VIII paid his one visit to York it was after the Pilgrimage\nof Grace led by Robert Aske, who was hanged on one of the gates. The\ncitizens who had welcomed the rebels pleaded pardon, which was granted\nthree years afterwards; but Henry appointed a council, with the Duke of\nNorfolk as its president, which was held in the Abbots' house, and\nresulted in the Mayor and Corporation losing most of their powers. The\nbeautiful fragments of St. Mary's Abbey are close to the river, and the\nsite is now included in the museum grounds. In the museum building\nitself there is a wonderfully fine collection of Roman coffins, dug up\nwhen the new railway-station was being built. One inscription is\nparticularly interesting in showing that the Romans set up altars in\ntheir palaces, thus explaining the reason for the Jews refusing to\nenter the praetorium at Jerusalem when Christ was made prisoner,\nbecause it was the Feast of the Passover.\n\nWe can see the restored front of the Guildhall overlooking the river\nfrom Lendal Bridge, which adjoins the gates of the Abbey grounds, but\nto reach the entrance we must go along the street called Lendal and\nturn into a narrow passage. The hall was put up in 1446, and is\ntherefore in the Perpendicular style. A row of tall oak pillars on each\nside support the roof and form two aisles. The windows are filled with\nexcellent modern stained glass representing several incidents in the\nhistory of the city, from the election of Constantine to be Roman\nEmperor, which took place at York in A.D. 306, down to the great dinner\nto the Prince Consort, held in the hall in 1850.\n\nThe Church of St. Michael Spurriergate, built at the same period as the\nGuildhall, is curiously similar in its interior, having only a nave and\naisles. The stone pillars are so slight that they are scarcely of much\ngreater diameter than the wooden ones in the civic structure, and some\nof them are perilously out of plumb. There is much old glass in the\nwindows.\n\nSt. Margaret's Church has a splendid Norman doorway carved with the\nsigns of the zodiac; St. Mary's Castlegate is an Early English or\nTransitional building transformed and patched in Perpendicular times;\nSt. Mary's Bishophill Junior has a most interesting tower, containing\nRoman materials, and the list could be prolonged for many pages if\nthere were space.\n\nWe finally come back to the Minster, and entering by the south transept\ndoor, realize at once in the dim immensity of the interior that we have\nreached the crowning splendour of York. The great organ is filling the\nlofty spaces with solemn music, carrying the mind far beyond petty\nthings.\n\nEdwin's wooden chapel, put up in 627 for his baptism into the Christian\nChurch nearly thirteen centuries ago, and almost immediately replaced\nby a stone structure, has gone, except for some possible fragments in\nthe crypt. Vanished, too, is the building that was standing when, in\n1069, the Danes sacked and plundered York, leaving the Minster and city\nin ruins, so that the great church as we see it belongs almost entirely\nto the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, the towers being still\nlater.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV\n\nTHE MANUFACTURING DISTRICT\n\n\nIt is not easy to understand how a massive structure such as that of\nSelby Abbey can catch fire and become a burnt-out shell, and yet this\nactually happened not many years ago.\n\nIt was before midnight on October 19, 1906, that the flames were first\nseen bursting from the Latham Chapel, where the organ was placed. The\nSelby fire brigade with their small engine were confronted with a task\nentirely beyond their powers, and though the men worked heroically,\nthey were quite unable to prevent the fire from spreading to the roofs\nof the chancel and nave, and consuming all that was inflammable within\nthe tower. By about three in the morning fire-engines from Leeds and\nYork had arrived, and with a copious supply of water from the river, it\nwas hoped that the double roof of the nave might have been saved, but\nthe fire had obtained too fierce a hold, and by 4.30 a correspondent\ntelegraphed:\n\n'The flames are through the west-end roof. The whole building will\nnow be destroyed from end to end. The flames are pouring out of\nthe roof, and the lead of the roof is running down in molten\nstreams. The scene is magnificent but pathetic, and the whole\nof the noble building is now doomed. The whole of the inside is a\nfiery furnace. The seating is in flames, and the firemen are in\nconsiderable danger if they stay any longer, as the false roof is now\nburned through.\n\n'The false roof is falling in, and the flames are ascending 30 feet\nabove the building. Dense clouds of smoke are pouring out.'\n\nWhen the fire was vanquished, it had practically completed its work of\ndestruction. Besides reducing to charred logs and ashes all the timber\nin the great building, the heat had been so intense that glass windows\nhad been destroyed, tracery demolished, carved finials and capitals\nreduced to powder, and even the massive piers by the north transept,\nwhere the furnace of flame reached its maximum intensity, became so\ncalcined and cracked that they were left in a highly dangerous\ncondition.\n\nFortunately the splendid Norman nave was not badly damaged, and after a\nnew roof had been built, it was easily made ready for holding services.\nThe two bays nearest to the transept are early Norman, and on the south\nside the massive circular column is covered with a plain grooved\ndiaper-work, almost exactly the same as may be seen at Durham\nCathedral. All the rest of the nave is Transitional Norman except the\nEarly English clerestory, and is a wonderful study in the progress from\nearly Norman to Early English.\n\nOn the floor on the south side of the nave by one of the piers is a\nslab to the memory of a maker of gravestones, worded in this quaint\nfashion:\n\n  'Here Lyes ye Body of poor Frank Raw\n  Parish Clark and Gravestone Cutter\n  And ys is writt to let yw know:\n  Wht Frank for Othrs us'd to do\n  Is now for Frank done by Another.\n  Buried March ye 31, 1706.'\n\nA stone on the floor of the retro-choir to John Johnson, master and\nmariner, dated 1737, is crowded with nautical metaphor.\n\n  'Tho' Boreas with his Blustring blasts\n  Has tos't me to and fro,\n  Yet by the handy work of God I'm here\n  Inclos'd below\n  And in this Silent Bay\n  I lie With many of our Fleet\n  Untill the Day that I Set Sail\n  My Admiral Christ to meet.'\n\nThe great Perpendicular east window was considered by Pugin to be one\nof the most beautiful of its type in England, and the risk it ran of\nbeing entirely destroyed during the fire was very great. The design of\nthe glass illustrates the ancestry of Christ from Jesse, and a\nconsiderable portion of it is original.\n\nAlthough Selby Abbey suffered severely in the conflagration, yet its\ngreatest association with history, the Norman nave, is still intact. At\nthe eastern end of the nave we can still look upon the ponderous arches\nof the Benedictine Abbey Church, founded by William the Conqueror in\n1069 as a mark of his gratitude for the success of his arms in the\nnorth of England, even as Battle Abbey was founded in the south.\n\nGoing to the west as far as Pontefract, we come to the actual borders\nof the coal-mine and factory-bestrewn country. Although the history of\nPontefract is so detailed and so rich, it has long ago been robbed of\nnearly every building associated with the great events of its past, and\nits present appearance is intensely disappointing. The town stands on a\nhill, and has a wide and cheerful market-place possessing an\neighteenth-century 'cross' on big open arches. It is a plain, classic\nstructure, 'erected by Mrs. Elisabeth Dupier Relict of Solomon Dupier,\nGent, in a cheerful and generous Compliance with his benevolent\nIntention Anno Dom' 1734.'\n\nThe castle stood at the northern end of the town on a rocky eminence\njust suited for the purposes of an early fortress, but of the stately\ntowers and curtain walls which have successively been reared above the\nscarps, practically nothing besides foundations remains. The base of\nthe great round tower, prominent in all the prints of the castle in the\ntime of its greatest glory, fragments of the lower parts of other towers\nand some dungeons or magazines are practically the only features of the\nhistoric site that the imagination finds to feed upon. A long flight of\nsteps leads into the underground chambers, on whose walls are carved\nthe names of various prisoners taken during the siege of 1648. Below\nthe castle, on the east side, is the old church of All Saints with its\nruined nave, eloquent of the destruction wrought by the Parliamentary\ncannon in the successive sieges, and to the north stands New Hall, the\nstately Tudor mansion of Lord George Talbot, now reduced to the\nmelancholy wreck depicted in these pages. The girdle of fortifications\nconstructed by the besiegers round the castle included New Hall, in\ncase it might have been reached by a sally of the Royalists, whose\ncannon-balls, we know, carried as far, from the discovery of one\nembedded in the masonry. Coats of arms of the Talbots can still be seen\non carved stones on the front walls over the entrance. The date, 1591,\nis believed to be later than the time of the erection of the house,\nwhich, in the form of its parapets and other details, suggests the\nstyle of Henry VIII's reign.\n\nAlthough we can describe in a very few words the historic survivals of\nPontefract, to deal even cursorily with the story of the vanished\ncastle and modernized town is a great undertaking, so numerous are the\ngreat personages and famous events of English history connected with\nits owners, its prisoners, and its sieges.\n\nThe name Pontefract has suggested such an obvious derivation that, from\nthe early topographers up to the present time, efforts have been made\nto discover the broken bridge giving rise to the new name, which\nreplaced the Saxon Kyrkebi. No one has yet succeeded in this quest, and\nthe absence of any river at Pontefract makes the search peculiarly\nhopeless. At Castleford, a few miles north-west of Pontefract, where\nthe Roman Ermine Street crossed the confluence of the Aire and the\nCalder, it is definitely known that there was only a ford. The present\nname does not make any appearance until several years after the Norman\nConquest, though Ilbert de Lacy received the great fief, afterwards to\nbecome the Honour of Pontefract, in 1067, the year after the Battle of\nHastings. Ilbert built the first stone castle on the rock, and either\nto him or his immediate successors may be attributed the Norman walls\nand chapel, whose foundations still exist on the north and east sides\nof the castle yard.\n\nThe De Lacys held Pontefract until 1193, when Robert died without\nissue, the castle and lands passing by marriage to Richard\nFitz-Eustace; and the male line again became extinct in 1310, when\nThomas, Earl of Lancaster, married Alice, the heiress of Henry de Lacy.\nHenry's great-grandfather was the Roger de Lacy, Justiciar and\nConstable of Chester, who is famous for his heroic defence of Chateau\nGaillard, in Normandy, for nearly a year, when John weakly allowed\nPhilip Augustus to continue the siege, making only one feeble attempt\nat relief. Thomas, Earl of Lancaster, who was a cousin of Edward II,\nwas more or less in continual opposition to the king, on account of his\ndetermination to rid the Court of the royal favourites, and it was with\nLancaster's full consent that Piers Gaveston was beheaded at Blacklow\nHill, near Warwick, in 1312. For this Edward never forgave his cousin,\nand when, during the fighting which followed the recall of the\nDespensers, Lancaster was obliged to surrender after the Battle of\nBoroughbridge, Edward had his revenge. The Earl was brought to his own\ncastle at Pontefract, where the King lay, and there accused of\nrebellion, of coming to the Parliaments with armed men, and of being in\nleague with the Scots. Without even being allowed a hearing he was\ncondemned to death as a traitor, and the next day, June 19, 1322,\nmounted on a sorry nag without a bridle, he was led to a hill outside\nthe town, and executed with his face towards Scotland.\n\nIn the last year of the same century Richard II died in imprisonment in\nthe castle, not long after the Parliament had decided that the deposed\nKing should be permanently immured in an out-of-the-way place.\nHardyng's Chronicle records the journeying from one castle to another\nin the lines:\n\n  'The Kyng the[n] sent Kyng Richard to Ledis,\n  There to be kepte surely in previtee,\n  Fro the[n]s after to Pykeryng we[n]t he nedes,\n  And to Knauesburgh after led was he,\n  But to Pountfrete last where he did die.'\n\nArchbishop Scrope affirmed that Richard died of starvation, while\nShakespeare makes Sir Piers of Exton his murderer.\n\nDuring the Pilgrimage of Grace the castle was besieged, and given up to\nthe rebels by Lord Darcy and the Archbishop of York. In the following\ncentury came the three sieges of the Civil War. The first two followed\nafter the Battle of Marston Moor in 1644, and Fairfax joined the\nParliamentary forces on Christmas Day of that year, remaining through\nmost of January. On March 1 Sir Marmaduke Langdale relieved the\nRoyalist garrison, and Colonel Lambert fell back, fighting stubbornly\nand losing some 300 men. The garrison then had an interval of just\nthree weeks to reprovision the castle, then the second siege began, and\nlasted until July 19, when the courageous defenders surrendered, the\nbesieging force having lost 469 men killed to 99 of those within the\ncastle. Of these two sieges, often looked upon as one, there exists a\nunique diary kept by Nathan Drake, a 'gentleman volunteer' of the\ngarrison, and from its wonderfully graphic details it is possible to\nrealize the condition of the defence, their sufferings, their hopes,\nand their losses, almost more completely than of any other siege before\nrecent times.\n\nIn the third and last investment of 1648-49 Cromwell himself summoned\nthe garrison, and remained a month with the Parliamentary forces,\nwithout seeing any immediate prospect of the surrender of the castle.\nWhen the Royalists had been reduced to a mere handful, Colonel Morris,\ntheir commander, agreed to terms of capitulation on March 24, 1649. The\ndismantling of the stately pile by order of Parliament followed as a\nmatter of course, and now we have practically nothing but\nseventeenth-century prints to remind us of the embattled towers which\nfor so many months defied Cromwell and his generals.\n\nLiquorice is still grown at Pontefract, although the industry has\nlanguished on account of Spanish rivalry, and the town still produces\nthose curious little discs of soft liquorice, approximating to the size\nof a shilling, known as 'Pontefract cakes.'\n\nThe ruins of the great Cistercian Abbey of Kirkstall, founded in the\ntwelfth century by Henry de Lacy, still stand in a remarkable state of\ncompleteness, about three miles from Leeds. With the exception of\nFountains, the remains are more perfect than any in Yorkshire. Nearly\nthe whole of the church is Transitional Norman, and the roofless nave\nis in a wonderfully fine state of preservation. The chapter-house and\nrefectory, as well as smaller rooms, are fairly complete, and the\nsituation by the Aire on a sunny day is still attractive; yet owing to\nthe smoke-laden atmosphere, and the inevitable indications of the\ncountless visitors from the city, the ruins have lost much of their\ninterest, unless viewed solely from a detached architectural\nstandpoint. We do not feel much inclination to linger in this\nneighbourhood, and continue our way westwards towards the great rounded\nhills, where, not far from Keighley, we come to the grey village of\nHaworth.\n\nMore than half a century has gone since Charlotte Bronte passed away in\nthat melancholy house, the 'parsonage' of the village. In that period\nthe church she knew has been rebuilt, with the exception of the tower,\nher home has been enlarged, a branch line from Keighley has given\nHaworth a railway-station, and factories have multiplied in the valley,\ndestroying its charm. These changes sound far greater than they really\nare, for in many ways Haworth and its surroundings are just what they\nwere in the days when the members of that ill-fated household were\nstill united under the grey roof of the 'parsonage,' as it is\ninvariably called by Mrs. Gaskell.\n\nWe climb up the steep road from the station at the bottom of the deep\nvalley, and come to the foot of the village street, which, even though\nit turns sharply to the north in order to make as gradual an ascent as\npossible, is astonishingly steep. At the top stands an inn, the 'Black\nBull,' where the downward path of the unhappy Branwell Bronte began,\nowing to the frequent occasions when 'Patrick,' as he was familiarly\ncalled, was sent for by the landlord to talk to his more important\npatrons.\n\nThe churchyard is, to a large extent, closely paved with tombstones\ndating back to the seventeenth century, laid flat, and on to this\ndismal piece of ground the chief windows of the Brontes' house looked,\nas they continue to do to-day. It is exceedingly strange that such an\nunfortunate arrangement of the buildings on this breezy hill-top should\nhave given a gloomy outlook to the parsonage. If the house had only\nbeen placed a little higher up the hill, and been built to face the\nsouth, it is conceivable that the Brontes would have enjoyed better\nhealth and a less melancholy and tragic outlook on life. An account of\na visit to Haworth Parsonage by a neighbour, when Charlotte and her\nfather were the only survivors of the family, gives a clear impression\nof how the house appeared to those who lived brighter lives:\n\n'Miss Bronte put me so in mind of her own \"Jane Eyre.\" She looked smaller\nthan ever, and moved about so quietly and noiselessly, just like a\nlittle bird, as Rochester called her, barring that all birds are\njoyous, and that joy can never have entered that house since it was\nfirst built, and yet, perhaps, when that old man married, and took home\nhis bride, and children's voices and feet were heard about the house,\neven that desolate crowded graveyard and biting blast could not quench\ncheerfulness and hope.'\n\nVery soon after the family came to Haworth Mrs. Bronte died, when the\neldest girl, Maria, was only six years old; and far from there having\nbeen any childish laughter about the house, we are told that the\nchildren were unusually solemn from their infancy. In their earliest\nwalks, the five little girls with their one brother--all of them under\nseven years--directed their steps towards the wild moors above their\nhome rather than into the village. Over a century has passed, and\npractically no change has come to the moorland side of the house, so\nthat we can imagine the precocious toddling children going hand-in-hand\nover the grass-lands towards the moors beyond, as though we had\ntravelled back over the intervening years.\n\nThe purple moors so beloved by the Brontes stretch away to the Calder\nValley, and beyond that depression in great sweeping outlines to the\nPeak of Derbyshire, where they exceed 2,000 feet in height. Within easy\nreach of this grand country is Sheffield, perhaps the blackest and\nugliest city in England. At night, however, the great iron and steel\nworks become wildly fantastic. The tops of the many chimneys emit\ncrimson flames, and glowing shafts of light with a nucleus of dazzling\nbrilliance show between the inky forms of buildings. Ceaseless activity\nreigns in these industrial infernos, with three shifts of men working\nduring each twenty-four hours; and from the innumerable works come\nevery form of manufactured steel and iron goods, from a pair of\nscissors or a plated teaspoon to steel rails and armour plate.","title":"Yorkshire","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":60274}