The record-union. [volume] (Sacramento, Calif.) 1891-1903, 1891-01-25

Scotch miSts and mountains, and with
his face set towards Rome and home, only
reached York to die of his wounds and
chagrin. 1t is the great Roman road of
England. Waiting or Waithling Street
it is called. Away in the north Of York
shire. few miles above Catterick Bridge.
one stem of this highway goes on through
Durham and Northumberland, and
thence to Edinburg. The other swings
around to the westward, traversing West
moreland and Cumberland through Car
Isle TO the Great Roman Wall, which
once protected Britain from the Gale.
DOMAIN hordes, and thence, in a more
modern coach-road, winds. through the
olden lovers haven, Gretna Green, to
Glasgow. On the western stem, between
the rives Tees and Greta, at the eastern
edge of Stanemoor, nearly surrounded by
desolate moors, and in the northwest cor
ner OF Yorkshire, lies what is left of
Bowes.
Coming on foot to Bowes from Kirby
Stephen, the wild, grand sweep of coun
try usually visible from the top of Stane-
moor was denied. But it was treat to
stand by Rere Cross, unmolested by
witch or warlock, and recall the meaning
of the gray old relic that had stood there
so sturdily for more than eight hundred
years. William the Conquerer, and NAL
colin, King of Scotland, met here with
their armies to decide, by battle, the
boundaries of their respective kingdoms.
Instead of fighting they wisely Toasted.
Wiser still, they decided that the very
spot should mark the boundary. There
upon they caused cross to be set up.
On one side was craven the image of
William; on the other, that of Malcolm.
They named it the Rio Cross, the Gross
Of the Kings" Time has corrupted the
name to Rere Cross. 1t has eaten away
its images, Topped off the arms, and
gnawed out its head. But it is Rio, or
Rere, Cross still, and marks the bound
airy of the shires of York and Westmore-
land to-day. 1t was the one thing to be
chung to as the storm swept me over the
mountain. The night seemed to fall on
Stanemoor as though driven upon the
earth out of the storm itself. Descending
the eastern declivity the roar of invisible
torrents, the creation of an hour, was
terrible. Thanks TO the Romans who had
built that road, it was broad, sure and as
eternal as Stanemoor itself. Whipped,
pounded and beaten along for what
seemed hours, my feet suddenly struck
being ever loved so much to be in Bowes
before. But where was the place, after
all? Not a candle or lamp-light cleaned
from window within it. Here and there
along the zig-zag street faint glimmer
flushed against some tiny panes. Peer
ing within, old and palsied crones, bent
and trembling, We're here and there seen
crouching. over fiickering embers of
meager fires, Drenched from rotten
thatches, startled by the storm-lashed
trees, and now thoroughly frightened
with the prospect of no resting-place for
the night, l felt my way along what
seemed to be the street-facade Of some
large structure, and, coming to its corner,
shrunk along this, where 1 halted for a
% IL V,,1I IL
tempest.
Scarcely had sufficient time elapsed to
permit my getting my back against the
building before there was startling,
splattering rush. The calves of my legs
escaped the fury of the object making it,
but with return rush the ample tails of
my storm-coat were gathered in a sort of
voiceless wise which only death or a
masters command can loosen. Few
We're the snuffies and snortings caused
by the working of the four-legged me-
chanism. Its forces were exclusively
devoted to effort. That effort was GER
tainly one of bringing prize into port
Yielding without protest to the spirit of
the occasion, l moved with its move
ments, tackled with its tackings. In a
zig-Zag attitude of gentle though unex-
pressiye inquiry, | was brought, now
sidewise, now backwise, along vast
open court, into stone archway, up
stone stairs, down stone stairways,
through other stone archways, all of
utter darkness, into little room not ten
feet square, where, beneath rows of cop
per measures, and behind black old
mahogany bar nearly as high as his head,
grinning, frowsy, puffy-faced publican
was looking benignly down upon half
dozen gigantic, Yorkshire plowboys.
These, already well befuddled with
liquor, and pounding the deal table with
their mugs, were roaring out a song
about
"York, York for my monte;
OF all the places I ever did see,
This is the best for good companie
Except the city of Lunnun!
They roared louder still when l stood
before them in charge OF a magnificent
bulldog. The frowsy Boniface quietly
reached for huge club. This he brought
down with crash upon the table enforc-
ing silence in that quarter; and then,
thanking his dog for his oddly-secured
guest with cruel thump, which released
me, he led the way through labyrinths
ofcobwebbed arched Railways and huge
deserted rooms to wretched apartment,
and, pointing to bed scacely better than
pile of rags, took his departure This
was the once famous George, now the
Unicorn, Inn. Eight coaches bound to
London or Glasgow, daily changed horses
here in the good old coaching days.
Dickens and Browne had occupied this
very room, once cheerful parlor cham
Der. The night, with untold furies of an
awful storm shrieking about the grew
some old place, with windows rafting
like crazy castinets, doors of Railways and
cupboards opening as if flung into the
room by unseen hands, and the very
floor-boards restless and disquiet as
though struggling with ugly gnomes be-
al IN To oil no hot
evil spirits of the dead past in protest at
disturbance by life and health and in
quiry.
But sleep will softly shut all hateful
things away from him who will come
with storm over Stanemoor's wilds.
When / awoke the sun was shining upon
dead old Bowes. There is a silent bell
tower on the roof of the Unicorn. /
climbed to this. There lay the sinuous
shell of the ancient village-a winding,
cobbled, grass-grown street of half mile
in length, flanked by ruined houses, half
of whose matched roofs had fallen in.
From their dank and rot grass, weeds,
and even flowers, were luxuriantly
springing, as thougha nture, seeking to
hide the spot, had hidden the winds and
birds seed it for fitting disguise. Far to
the east the eye catches a glimpse Of the
classic domain of Rokeby. To the north,
the dells and fells where flows the River
Tees. To the south, the glen of Greta,
where that river tunbies and sings. That
huge, lone, stone structure, the first at
Bowes from the Greta bridgeway, weird
and ghostly under huge sycamores, was
once another Dotheboys. Richard Golden
once owned it, and made it his home.
Then the Unicorn, with acres of out
buildings, empty and moss-grown. OPP
posite, another silent inn, the Rose and
Crown. Then, facing westward, little
Norman church; near it, the ruins of a
Norman castle. Behind these ruins, the
ancient Roman station of Savatrae, where
are remains of baths and an acqueduct.
Then, rooted and unroofed howell ON either
side to the westward, where you will see.
just as Dickens and his Nicholas Nickleby