Northumberland Yesterday And To Day by Jean F. Terry (best novel books to read .txt) 📕

Appearing Now In The Guise Of A Holy Palmer, Now As A Wandering

Minstrel As He Was Sitting, Despondent And Well-Nigh Despairing,

Beneath A Hawthorn Tree, An Aged Monk Came By, And On Seeing The

Supposed Minstrel's Face Of Sorrow, Said To Him,

  "All Minstrels Yet That E'er I Saw

  Are Full Of Game And Glee,

  But Thou Art Sad And Woe-Begone;

  I Marvel Whence It Be."

Bertram Replied That He Served An Aged Lord Whose Only Child Had Been

Stolen Away, And That He Would Know No Happiness Until He Had Found Her.

The Pilgrim Comforted Him And Bade Him Hope, Telling Him That

  "Behind Yon Hills So Steep And High,

  Down In A Lonely Glen,

  There Stands A Castle Fair And Strong,

  Far From The Abode Of Men."

Saying That He Had Heard A Lady's Voice Lamenting In This Lonely Tower,

He Passed On, Giving Bertram The Hope That Now At Last His Quest Was

Ended. He Made His Way To That Strong Castle, And With His Music

Prevailed Upon The Porter To Let Him Stay Near At Hand In A Cavern; For

The Porter Refused To Admit Him To The Castle In The Absence Of His

Lord, Though At The Same Time Giving Him Food And Directing Him To The

Cave. He Piped All Day And Watched All Night, And Was Rewarded By

Hearing His Lady's Voice Lamenting Within The Walls Of Her Prison. On

The Second Night He Caught A Glimpse Of Her Beauteous Form, Fair As The

Moonbeams That Shone Around The Tower. On The Third Night, Worn With

Watching, He Slept, And Only Awakened As Dawn Drew Nigh. Grasping His

Weapon, He Stole Near To The Castle Walls, When To His Amazement, He Saw

His Lady Descend From Her Window By A Ladder Of Rope, Held For Her By A

Youth In Highland Dress. Stunned At The Sight, He Could Not Move To

Follow Them, Till They Had Left Behind Them The Castle Where The Lady

Had Been Held Captive, And Were About To Disappear Over The Hill.

Silently And Swiftly Then He Drew Near, And Crying Furiously, "Vile

Traitor! Yield That Lady Up!" Fell Upon The Youth Who Accompanied Her,

Who In His Turn Fought As Furiously As He. In A Few Moments Bertram's

Antagonist Lay Stretched On The Ground; And As He Gave Him The Fatal

Thrust He Cried, "Die, Traitor, Die!" The Lady Recognised His Voice, And

Rushing Forward, Shrieked, "Stay! Stay! It Is Thy Brother." But The

Sword Of Bertram, Already Descending With The Force Of Rage And Fury In

The Blow, Could Not Be Stayed Until Too Late. The Fair Maid's Breast Was

Pierced By The Sword Of The Knight Who Loved Her, And She Sank Down By

The Side Of The Youth Who Had Delivered Her. It Was Indeed Bertram's

Brother, Who Had Succeeded In His Search; And The Dying Maiden Found

Time To Tell Of His Devotion, In Rescuing Her From This Castle Of The

Son Of A Scottish Lord Who Fain Would Have Made Her His Bride, Before

She, Too, Lay Lifeless By The Side Of Her Brave Rescuer, Leaving Her

Lover Too Despairing And Desolate To Seek Safety In Flight, So That The

Band Of Searchers From The Castle, Seeking Their Prisoner On The Hills,

And Dreading Their Lord's Wrath On His Return, Bore Him Back With Them

To The Dungeon. Their Lord, However, Had Meantime Been Taken Captive By

Percy (Hotspur), Who, As Soon As He Heard Of Bertram's Capture, Quickly

Exchanged The Scottish Chief For His Friend. Bertram's Sorrow Lasted For

The Rest Of His Days; He Gave Away His Lands And Possessions To The

Poor, And Retiring To A Lovely Spot On The Banks Of The Coquet, Where

Rocky Cliffs Overhung The River, He Carved Out In The Living Stone A

Little Cell, Dormitory, And Chapel, And Dwelt There, Passing His Days In

Mourning, Meditation, And Prayer. In The Chapel, With Its Gracefully

Arched Roof, He Fashioned On An Altar-Tomb The Image Of A Lady, And At

Her Feet The Figure Of A Hermit, In The Attitude Of Grief, One Hand

Supporting His Head And The Other Pressed Against His Breast, Leaning

Over And Gazing At The Lady For Ever. The Poignant Sentence "My Tears

Have Been My Meat Day And Night," Is Carved Over The Entrance To The

Little Chapel. Here, In This Beautiful Spot, Almost Under The Shadow Of

The Castle Walls Belonging To His Noble Friend, The Sorrowing Knight,

Now A Holy Hermit, Spent The Remainder Of His Life In The Little

Dwelling He Had Wrought In The Living Rock. It Remains To-Day More

Beautiful, If Possible, Than Ever, Overhung By A Canopy Of Waving

Greenery, And Draped With Ferns And Mosses, Their Graceful Fronds Laved

By The Rippling Coquet Whose Gentle Murmurings Fill The Still Air With

Music.

The Next Tale Takes Us To The Neighbourhood Of Belford, And Out Upon The

Old Post Road From London To Edinburgh. In The Unsettled Times Of James

The Second's Reign, One Sir John Cochrane Of Ochiltree Was Condemned To

Death For His Part In The Rising Which Was Led By The Duke Of Argyle.

Powerful Friends, Heavily Bribed By Sir John's Father, The Earl Of

Dundonald, Were Working In Sir John's Favour, And They Had Strong Hopes

Of Obtaining A Pardon. But Meanwhile, Sir John Lay In The Tolbooth At

Edinburgh, And The Warrant For His Execution Was Already On Its Way

Northward, In The Post-Bag Carried Forward By Horseman After Horseman

Throughout The Length Of The Way. Could The Arrival Of The Warrant Only

Be Delayed By Some Means, His Life Might Be Saved. In This Strait, His

Daughter Grizzel, A Girl Of Eighteen, Conceived The Desperate Idea Of

Preventing The Warrant's Reaching Its Destination. Saying Nothing To

Anyone Of Her Intentions, She Stole Away From Home, And Rode Swiftly To

The Border. Following The Road For About Four Miles On The English

Side, She Arrived At The House Of Her Old Nurse; And Here She Changed

Her Clothes, Persuading The Old Dame To Lend Her A Suit Belonging To Her

Foster-Brother. Making Her Way Southward, She Went To The Inn At Belford

Where The Riders Carrying The Mail Usually Put Up For The Night. Here,

The Same Night, Came The Postman, And The Seeming Youth Watched

Nervously, But Determinedly, For An Opportunity Of Finding Out Whether

The Fateful Paper Was In His Bag Or Not. No Slightest Chance Presented

Itself, However, And An Attempt To Obtain The Mail-Bag During The Night

Failed By Reason Of The Fact That The Man Slept Upon It. One Thing She

Did Accomplish, Which Gave Her Hope That The Encounter For Which She Was

Nerving Herself Might End Successfully For Her; She Managed, Unseen, To

Draw The Charges From His Pistols. Then The Courageous Girl Rode Off

Through The Dark Night To Select A Favourable Spot In Which To Await His

Coming. For Two Or Three Lonely Hours She Waited, The Thought That She

Was Fighting For Her Father's Life Giving Her Courage. In The Dim Light

Of The Early Dawn She Heard The Sound Of His Horse's Hoofs From Where

She Stood In The Shadow Of A Clump Of Trees; And Steeling Herself For

The Part She Was To Play, And In Ignorance Of Whether He Might Have

Found Out That The Charges Had Been Withdrawn From His Pistols And Might

Have Re-Loaded Them, She Waited Until He Was Almost Abreast Of Her, And

Fired At His Horse, Bringing It Down. Before He Could Extricate Himself

She Was Upon Him With Drawn Sword; But Promising To Spare His Life If He

Would Let Her Have The Mail-Bag, She Seized It And Darted Away. He

Attempted To Follow To Recover His Charge, But She Reached Her Horse,

And Rode Off Like The Wind. When She Reached A Place Of Safety And

Examined The Contents Of The Bag, What Was Her Joy To Find That The

Warrant Was There. It Was Speedily Destroyed; And During The Time That

Elapsed Before The News Of The Loss Could Be Sent To London And Another

One Made Out, The Friends Of Sir John Succeeded In Obtaining His Pardon.

"Cochrane's Bonny Grizzy" Lived To A Good Old Age; And "Grizzy's Clump"

On The North Road Near The Little Village Of Buckton Keeps Green The

Memory Of Her Daring Exploit.

"Bonny Grizzy" Was A Scottish Maid, Though Her Gallant If Lawless Deed

Was Performed On Northumbrian Soil; But There Is One Northumbrian Maiden

Whose Fame Will Live As Long As The Sea-Waves Beat On The Wild

North-East Coast, And As Long As Men's Hearts Thrill To A Tale Of

Courage And High Resolve. Grace Darling's Name Still Awakens In Every

Bosom A Response To All That Is Compassionate, Courageous, And

Unselfish; And The Thoughts Of All North-Country Folk Bold That

Admiration For The Gentle Girl Which Has Been Voiced As No Other Could

Voice It, In The Magical Words Of Swinburne--

  "Take, O Star Of All Our Seas, From Not An Alien Hand,

  Homage Paid Of Song Bowed Down Before Thy Glory's Face,

  Thou The Living Light Of All Our Lovely Stormy Strand,

  Thou The Brave North-Country's Very Glory Of Glories, Grace."

The Story Of Her Gallantry Has Been Many Times Re-Told, But Never Grows

Wearisome. The Memory Of That Stormy Voyage Of The _Forfarshire_, Which

Ended In Disaster On The Harcar Rocks In The Farne Group, Remains In

Men's Minds As The Dark And Tragic Setting Which Throws Into Bright

Relief The Gallant Action Of The Father And Daughter Who Dared Almost

Certain Death To Rescue Their Fellow-Creatures In Peril. It Was In

September, 1838, That The Ill-Fated Vessel Left Hull For Dundee; But A

Leak In The Boilers Caused The Fires To Be Nearly Extinguished In The

Storm The Vessel Encountered. It Reached St. Abb's Head By The Aid Of

The Sails, But Then Drifted Southward, Driven By The Storm, And Struck

In The Early Morning, In A Dense Fog, On The Harcar Rocks. Nine Of The

People On Board Managed To Escape In A Small Boat, Which Was Driven In A

Miraculous Manner Through The Only Safe Outlet Between The Rocks. They

Were Picked Up By A Passing Boat And Taken To Shields. Meanwhile A Heavy

Sea Had Crashed Down Upon The _Forfarshire_, And Broken It In Half, One

Portion, With The Greater Number Of Crew And Passengers, Being Swept

Away Immediately. The Remaining Portion, The Fore Part Of The Vessel,

Was Firmly Fixed Upon The Rock. Here The Shivering Survivors Clung All

That Stormy Day, The Waves Dashing Over Them Continually. The Captain

And His Wife Were Washed Overboard, Clasped In Each Others' Arms; And

Two Little Children, A Boy Of Eight And A Girl Of Eleven Years Of Age,

Died From Exposure And The Relentless Buffeting Of The Waves, Their

Distracted Mother Clasping Them By The Hand Long After Life Was Extinct.

To A Terrible Day Succeeded A Yet More Terrible Night.

  "Scarce The Cliffs Of The Islets, Scarce The Walls Of Joyous Gard

  Flash To Sight Between The Deadlier Lightnings Of The Sea;

  Storm Is Lord And Master Of A Midnight Evil-Starred,

  Nor May Sight Nor Fear Discern What Evil Stars May Be."

Until The Morning They Endured; And In The Stormy Dawn The Keeper Of The

Longstone Lighthouse, William Darling, And His Daughter Grace Saw Them

Huddled In A Shivering Heap Upon The Wave-Swept Fragments Of The Wreck.

The Girl Begged Her Father To Try To Save Them, And To Allow Her To Help

In The Task, And After Some Natural Hesitation He Consented. The

Brave-Hearted Mother Helped Them To Launch The Boat, And They Set Forth.

  "Sire And Daughter, Hand On Oar And Face Against The Night.

  Maid And Man Whose Names Are Beacons Ever To The North.

  ...... All The Madness Of The Stormy Surf

  Hounds And Roars Them Back, But Roars And Hounds Them Back In   Vain.

  Not Our Mother, Not Northumberland, Brought Ever Forth.

  Though No Southern Shore May Match The Sons That Kiss Her Mouth,

  Children Worthier All The Birthright Given Of The Ardent North,

  Where The Fire Of Hearts Outburns The Suns That Fire The South."

  They Reached The Rock, Where Nine Persons Were Still

  Clinging To The Wreck, And

  "Life By Life The Man Redeems Them, Head By Storm-Worn Head,

  While The Girl's Hand Stays The Boat Whereof The Waves Are Fain."

With Five Of The Exhausted Survivors The Boat Returned To The Longstone;

And Two Of The Men Went Back With William Darling For The Other Four.

All Were Safely Housed In The Lighthouse And Tended By The Noble Family

Of The Darlings; But The Storm Raged For Several Days Longer, And Made

It Impossible For Them To Be Put Ashore. When At Length They Returned To

Their Homes, And The Story Of The