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BOOK THE SECOND BAMBOROUGH CASTLE,
III. – LORD WIDDRINGTON

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Very different was the progress of the prince and his party from that made by the occupants of the coach. While the latter were crawling along the highway, the others were flying across the country, as if chasing the deer.

Over broad wide moors they speeded – across valley, and through wood – past ancient castles, and along the banks of rushing streams – allowing nothing to stop them – not even the Piets’ wall, through a gap in which they dashed – till after traversing many a wild and waste such as only can be seen in Northumberland, they came in sight of the great German Ocean, and the rugged coast that bounds it.

Sixteen miles and upwards had been accomplished in a marvellously short space of time, but then all were well mounted. Throughout this long stretch, Anna, who we have said rode splendidly, kept by the side of Lord Derwentwater, and as he led the way, she shared any risk he might run.

A pretty sight it was to see them together, and drew forth the admiration of those who followed in their course. Somehow or other, they got ahead, and the Prince and Dorothy Forster, who were next behind, made no effort to come up with them. The rest of the party kept well together.

At length a point was reached from which, as we have just mentioned, the broad expanse of the ocean could he surveyed. On the right was Camboise Bay, spreading out with all its rocky headlands as far as Tynemouth and South Shields. On the left was Druridge Bay with Coquet Island in the distance. Behind them a few miles off was Morpeth, with the ruins of its castle, and its old church, and beyond Morpeth lay the wild district they had traversed.

As yet they had made no halt, Lord Derwent water’s intention being to stop at Widdrington Castle, which could now be descried about a mile off, beautifully situated near the coast. It was a picturesque structure, surrounded by fine timber, and though of great antiquity, seemed in excellent repair.

Lord Widdrington was a devoted partisan of the House of Stuart, and it was therefore certain that his castle would be thrown open to the prince, and that his highness might tarry there as long as he pleased if he deemed it as safe as Bamborough.

After contemplating the fine old structure with delight for a few minutes, the prince moved on, and followed by the whole party rode down the eminence, and entered the park.

They had not gone far, when they met the noble owner of the mansion.

Lord Widdrington chanced to be riding about his grounds at the time, and seeing the party enter the lodge-gate, he hastened towards them.

How great was his astonishment when he learnt who was his visitor! He instantly flung himself from his horse to pay homage to him whom he regarded as his king.

But the prince was as quick as himself, and anticipating his design, dismounted and embraced him, expressing the greatest delight at beholding him.

Lord Widdrington had quite the air of a country gentleman. About five and thirty, he was well-made, though somewhat robust, with good features, lighted up by grey eyes, and characterised by a frank, manly expression. He wore a blue riding-dress trimmed with silver, a blonde peruke and riding-boots.

By this time Lord Derwentwater had come up, and explanations were quickly given as to the position in which the prince was placed.

Lord Widdrington looked grave, and after a few moments’ deliberation said:

“Your majesty must be certain that nothing would gratify me more than to receive you as my guest, but your safety is the first consideration. I am bound, therefore, to state, that in case of pursuit, you would not be as safe here as at Bamborough.”

“Such is my own opinion,” remarked Lord Derwentwater.

“There are a hundred hiding places in the old castle,” pursued Lord Widdrington; “and besides, a boat can be always in readiness, so that your majesty could be taken to Lindisfarne, where you might be concealed for a month.

“Whatever course you advise, my lord, I will adopt,” said the prince. “But I must not be deprived of the power of retreat.”

“‘Tis therein especially that Bamborough has the advantage over this mansion, my liege,” said Forster, who had come up. “I will answer with my life that you shall not fall into the hands of your enemies.”

“And I dare not assert as much, since I might not be able to make good my words,” said Lord Widdrington.

“That decides me,” cried the prince. “I shall take up my quarters at Bamborough.”

“I trust your majesty will tarry awhile, and accept such hospitality as I am able to offer you,” entreated Lord Widdrington.

“How say you, my lord?” cried the prince, appealing to Lord Derwentwater. “Shall I stay? I am in your hands.”

His lordship thought an hour’s halt might be risked, so the whole of the party dismounted, and were conducted to a large antique dining-hall, adorned with portraits of the family, commencing with Gerard de Widdrington, who flourished in the time of Edward the Third.

Here a goodly repast was served with remarkable promptitude. Of course, the viands were cold, but those who partook of them were too hungry to care for that – for they had breakfasted but slightly before starting, – and even the two fair damsels had gained a good appetite by the ride.

Claret there was in abundance, and a goblet was devoted to a young pair of whose recent betrothal Lord Widdrington had just heard. The health of King James was drunk at the close of the repast, which was not prolonged beyond an hour. At the expiration of that time the horses were brought round.

After glancing round the entrance-hall, which was panelled with oak, and decked with trophies of the chase and ancient weapons, and admiring the carved oak staircase, the prince went forth, and mounted his steed – Lord Widdrington holding the bridle. With graceful gallantry, his lordship next assisted the two fair equestrians to the saddle. This done, he mounted his own horse, with the purpose of attending the prince to Bamborough. Moreover, he had ordered half a dozen well-armed men to follow at the rear of the troop.

With this additional force the party proceeded on its way – though not at the same rapid pace as heretofore.

Preston Fight: or, The Insurrection of 1715

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