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CHAPTER XI.

The Borth-East Coast.

E got a view of North Berwick, which
stands on the extreme northern point of
Haddington; and about three miles to
the eastward of it we came off the far-
famed Tantallon Castle, in days of yore
the stronghold of the Douglasses.
course, we got out Marmion, and read
the description of this celebrated fortress,
which by the extent of its ruins, must
have been of great size and strength.

"I said, Tantallon's dizzy steep

Hung o'er the margin of the deep.
Many a rude tower and rampart there

Repelled the insult of the air,

Which, when the tempest vexed the sky,

Half breeze, half spray, came whistling by...
A parapet's embattled row

Did seaward round the castle go.
Sometimes in dizzy steps descending,
Sometimes in narrow circuit bending,
Sometimes in platform broad extending,
Its varying circle did combine
Bulwark, and bartizan, and line,

And bastion, tower, and vantage-coign.

Of

Above the booming ocean leant

The far-projecting battlement;

The billows burst, in ceaseless flow,
Upon the precipice below."

We passed the mouth of the river Tyne, south of which stands Dunbar. The next place of interest we came off was Fast Castle, of which two tall towers remain close to the cliffs,-in former days, the stronghold of the Homes. It is supposed to be the original of Wolf's Crag in the Bride of Lammermoor. We looked through our glasses at the spot where the unhappy Master of Ravenswood sank with his steed into the treacherous quicksand.

About fifteen miles farther on, we passed the bluff promontory St. Abb's Head; and soon afterwards arrived off Berwick, which, I need hardly say, stands at the mouth of the Tweed, the river dividing England from Scotland. So close does the railway run to the cliffs, that we could hear the trains passing as clearly as if we were on shore, and could see them shooting by at a speed which made us jealous. As the wind was fair, we did not put into the Tweed, but stood close enough to Berwick to have a cursory view of it. As all the world knows, Berwick is not within any county, for although really in Berwickshire, it belongs to England. It is a county in itself. A portion is still surrounded by walls erected in the time of Elizabeth; and it is defended by several bastions, with batteries commanding the entrance to the harbour. We could see the remains of an ancient castle, which is now a heap of ruins, but above it stands the Bell Tower, still almost perfect. A number of vessels passed in and out of the harbour while we were off it, showing that the place has a good deal of trade. As we looked through our glasses, we saw a number of churches and public buildings. A long stone pier runs out on the north side of the Tweed, with a lighthouse at its end.

We now stood on towards Holy Island, a few miles south of Berwick, off the Northumbrian coast; and as we had still several hours of daylight, we hove to off the island. Here, in the early days of Christianity, was a college of evangelists, who went forth to preach the simple gospel through the northern portions of the country, to its heathen kings, as well as to the people over whom they held sway. Ultimately, monasteries were built here,

famous for the supposed piety of their inmates.

The coast we were now sailing along is thus described in Marmion:

"And now the vessel skirts the strand

Of mountainous Northumberland;
Towns, towers, and halls successive rise,
And catch the nuns' delighted eyes.
Monk-Wearmouth soon behind them lay,
And Tynemouth's priory and bay;
They marked amid her trees, the hall
Of lofty Seaton-Delaval;

They saw the Blythe and Wansbeck floods
Rush to the sea through sounding woods;
They passed the tower of Widderington,
Mother of many a valiant son;

At Coquet-isle their beads they tell
To the good saint who owned the cell;
Then did the Alne attention claim

And Warkworth, proud of Percy's name;
And next they crossed themselves, to hear

The whitening breakers sound so near,

Where, boiling through the rocks, they roar

On Dunstanborough's caverned shore;

Thy tower, proud Bamborough, marked they there,

King Ida's castle, huge and square,

From its tall rock looked grimly down,

And on the swelling ocean frown;

Then from the coast they bore away

And reached the Holy Island's bay."

We pulled on shore to visit the ruins of the celebrated Abbey of Lindisfarne. If the pilgrim visitors arrived at low water, they

could get across by following the sandbank which connects it with the mainland; but they had to make haste, to escape being caught by the flood.

Besides the monastery, there was a castle of great strength, which oft resisted the invaders' hostile attacks; and heathen Danes had again and again been driven back to their ships by its stalwart garrison. Its glories, however, are departed. We could find only a few low walls, over which we could leap, and the remains of a staircase of eight or ten steps in a tower but little higher than the wall. A board warning off trespassers took away what little romance we had conjured up.

Returning on board, we again stood to the southward, sighting Bamborough Castle, elevated on a green mound above the village. Off it, lies the Longstone Rock and the Farne Islands. The coast looked, bleak and desolate, with here and there dark rocks running into the sea. The wind was very light as we came off the Longstone Lighthouse.

While the yachts hove to, the boats were lowered, and we pulled up to it, in order to pay a visit to the scene of Grace Darling's heroism. For upwards of fifty years the lighthouse was under the charge of William Darling, the father of Grace. We understood that the present head-keeper was a member of the family. The tower stands on a rock, is painted red, and the light revolves every half minute. We were much interested with the memorials of Grace Darling which embellished the sitting-room. The light-keeper on duty pointed out the various localities connected with the wreck of the Forfarshire.

Before daylight, on the 6th of September, 1838, a furious gale blowing, Grace Darling, who acted as William Darling's assistant and was on watch, heard, as she thought, the cries of people coming from the direction of some rocks a mile away. She awoke her father, and together they stood listening to the appeals for help; but in the dark, with the furious sea there

was running, it was impossible to put off to their assistance. When day broke, however, the old man launched his boat, and was about to shove off, when, observing the state of the tide and weather, he hesitated to make the attempt. As the light increased, Grace, who had been anxiously watching the wreck, declared that she saw some people still clinging to it.

"We must save them!" she exclaimed; and seizing an oar, she stepped into the boat.

The old man, aroused by her example, followed her. Through the foaming seas, which threatened every moment to overwhelm. the little coble, they pulled off to the wreck. The fore part of the vessel, to which nine people were clinging, alone remained; to reach them it was necessary to land on the lee side of the rock. This, after considerable difficulty, William Darling succeeded in doing, when immediately Grace rowed off in the coble, to prevent it being dashed to pieces. One by one, five of the crew and four passengers, were drawn by the lighthouse-keeper off the wreck, and placed on the rock, from whence they were transferred to the boat, and conveyed, a few at a time, to the lighthouse.

Owing to the state of the weather, no communication could be held with the mainland for two days, during which time the nine shipwrecked persons were treated with the utmost kindness. by Mr. Darling and his daughter. The calm bravery of Grace, who was at that time only twenty-two years of age, excited the admiration of all who heard of it. Testimonials and suitable presents, together with seven hundred pounds sterling raised by subscription, showed how highly the public appreciated her conduct. The Forfarshire steamer, of three hundred tons, had sailed the previous evening from Hull, bound for Dundee; but her boilers becoming defective, the engines could no longer work, and at three o'clock the following morning she struck on the Longstone, the outermost of the Farne Islands, between which