|After a capital breakfast, the whole party--now increased by Squire
Hall and half a dozen men--rode from Otter-burn to Simonside, one of the
loftiest and most striking hills in Northumberland. The summit of this
remarkable eminence is a complete plateau, and the views commanded
from it on all sides are extraordinarily fine, the whole range of the
Cheviots being visible on the west, and the German Ocean on the east.
As the party were riding across this wide plain, with the intention of
descending the north side, and proceeding to Rothbury, Squire Hall, who
had been tolerably quiet during the morning, proposed to ride a race
with Charles Radclyffe for twenty guineas.
“We will ride from here to Rothbury,” he said; “and whoever gets there
first, shall be deemed the winner.”
Charles Radclyffe instantly accepted the challenge; but the Earl of
Derwentwater very reluctantly allowed the match to take place, and only
consented from the fear of causing a fresh quarrel with the squire.
Without loss of time, the two gentlemen were placed together, and
started at once by the earl. Both were well mounted--both excellent
horsemen--but Charles Radclyffe was much the lighter weight, though
undoubtedly the squire had the stronger horse.
It was a very pretty sight, to see them as they scoured over the plain,
accompanied by the whole troop. The earl's dapple-grey being fleeter
than either of the contending steeds, he could have easily led them, had
he thought proper, but he did not make the attempt. Nor did he go beyond
the edge of the hill.
On looking down the steep slopes, he called to the others to stop, but
neither of them heeded him. Both dashed headlong down the hill, and all
the lookers-on thought they would come rolling to the bottom.
If ever Squire Hall merited the epithet applied to his name, it was on
that day, and Charles Radclyffe appeared little less crazy--the general
impression being that both would break their necks. But somehow, the
horses kept their feet. The squire shouted lustily, as he continued his
mad descent, and Charles was equally excited.
To the astonishment of all the beholders they got down in safety, and
were soon afterwards seen crossing the bridge; being then so close
together, that it was impossible to say who had won the race.
The Earl of Derwentwater and his companions took an easier and more
secure route down. As they approached the old bridge over the Coquet
leading to the charming little town, they met the two crazy riders
coming to meet them, and inquired who had won.
“We can't settle the point, my lord,” replied the squire; “it seems to
have been a dead-heat. We shall have to ride the race over again.”
“Not on Simonside Hill,” replied Lord Derwentwater, laughing. “Have you
heard where Mr. Forster has fixed his head-quarters? I see nothing of
him or his troop.”
“His head-quarters are now at Wanny Crags,” replied the squire. “He has
gone there to meet some friends.”
“Does he return to Rothbury?” demanded the earl.
“That seems doubtful,” replied Charles Radclyffe. “No one can answer
for his movements. Probably, he will proceed to Warkworth to meet Lord
Widdrington.”
“Then we must follow him,” said the earl.
Fain would Lord Deventwater have tarried for a day at Rothbury, which
offered many attractions to him, but wishing to effect an immediate
junction with Forster, he only halted long enough to allow his men to
refresh themselves at the comfortable little hostel near the church,
where they found good ale.
To reach Wanny Crags, they had again to cross Simon-side, and the
deciding race was run on the summit, and won by Squire Hall, who was
extraordinarily proud of the achievement.