His brother Charles, who had been by his side throughout the rising, had the good fortune to escape from Newgate Prison, and passed most of his life abroad. Thirty years later, on his return to take up arms on behalf of James’ son Charles—“bonnie Prince Charlie”—when he also drew the sword in an attempt to regain the throne of his fathers, Radcliffe was captured and beheaded. (For account of a monument to the memory of these two brothers see in previous chapter paragraph relating to Haydon Bridge.)

The story of General Forster’s escape from Newgate is told by Sir Walter Besant, as all readers of his novel, “Dorothy Forster” know, though the author has taken those minor liberties with unimportant facts which are by common consent allowable in fiction.

James Radcliffe’s friends were allowed to have his body, though they were forbidden to carry it home for burial; for such were the love and esteem borne for the young Earl in the hearts of all his North-country friends and dependents, that the authorities feared a disturbance of the peace should his body be brought amongst them while their rage and grief were still at their height. Notwithstanding the prohibition, however, the body was brought secretly to Dilston, and buried in the vault of the chapel, which, with the ruined tower, are all that remain of the home of the Radcliffes. Standing amidst luxuriant foliage, and overlooking a romantic dell, the ruins of tower and chapel remain as they fell into decay on the death of their luckless owners. The confiscated estates were bestowed on Greenwich Hospital, whose agents administer them still, with the exception of certain portions purchased from time to time by various landowners. No other family took the place of the Radcliffes in the deserted halls; but tradition holds that the unfortunate Earl and his sorrowful lady still revisit their ancient home. The Earl’s body is now at Thorndon, in Essex. Below is Surtees’ beautiful ballad, “Lord Derwentwater’s Farewell.”

LORD DERWENTWATER’S FAREWELL
“Farewell to pleasant Dilston Hall,
My father’s ancient seat;
A stranger now must call thee his,
Which gars my heart to greet.
Farewell each kindly well-known face
My heart has held so dear;
My tenants now must leave their lord
Or hold their lives in fear.
No more along the banks of Tyne
I’ll rove in autumn grey;
No more I’ll hear, at early dawn,
The lav’rocks wake the day;
Then fare thee well, brave Witherington,
And Forster ever true;
Dear Shaftsbury and Errington,
Receive my last adieu.
And fare thee well, George Collingwood,
Since fate has put us down;
If thou and I have lost our lives,
Our king has lost his crown.
Farewell, farewell, my lady dear,
Ill, ill thou counsell’dst me;
I never more may see the babe
That smiles upon thy knee.
And fare thee well, my bonny gray steed,
That carried me aye so free;
I wish I had been asleep in my bed
The last time I mounted thee;
The warning bell now bids me cease,
My trouble’s nearly o’er;
Yon sun that rises from the sea
Shall rise on me no more.
Albeit that here in London Town
It is my fate to die;
O carry me to Northumberland,
In my father’s grave to lie.
There chant my solemn requiem
In Hexham’s holy towers;
And let six maids of fair Tynedale
Scatter my grave with flowers.
And when the head that wears the crown
Shall be laid low like mine;
Some honest hearts may then lament
For Radcliffe’s fallen line.
Farewell to pleasant Dilston Hall,
My father’s ancient seat;
A stranger now must call thee his,
Which gars my heart to greet.”

Near to Corbridge the waters of the Tyne lave the ancient piers of the old Roman bridge which led to Corstopitum, the most considerable of the Roman stations in this region. The recent careful excavations have laid bare the evidence of what must have been a most imposing city, and many treasures of pottery, coins and ancient jewellery and ornaments, together with large quantities of the bones of animals, some of them identical with the wild cattle of Chillingham, have been brought to light. The famous silver dish known as the Corbridge Lanx, which was found at the riverside by a little girl in 1734, had evidently been washed down from Corstopitum. It is now preserved at Alnwick Castle. The antiquity of Corbridge is thus superior to that of Hexham, as far as may be known; but on the other hand, while Hexham in Saxon times grew to power, Corbridge declined. Yet, in its time, it was more than the home of a famous Abbey; it was a royal city, albeit the date of its elevation to royal rank coincided with the decline of the kingdom of which it was the final capital. When the fierce and ruthless internal quarrels, which rent Northumbria after Edbert’s glorious reign, had weakened it so that it fell a prey to the gradual encroachments of its northern neighbours, the once royal city of Bamburgh was left in the hands of a noble Saxon family, and the court was removed to Corbridge, which remained the abode of the kings of Northumbria until Northumbria possessed royal rank no longer. The tale of the two hundred years during which Corbridge was the capital city is a tale of red slaughter and ruin, murder and bitter feud, not against outside foes, but between one family and another, noble against king, king against relatives of other noble houses, amongst which might possibly be found the thegn to succeed him, or to murder him in order to bring about his own more speedy elevation to a precarious throne.

So much was this the case, that Charles the Great, at whose court the learned Northumbrian, Alcuin, was secretary, said that the Northumbrians were worse than the invading heathen Danes, who, by this time, had begun their ravages in the land. Amongst the rulers of Northumbria in those days, the name of Alfwald the Just, who was called “the Friend of God,” shines out with enduring light across the stormy darkness of that terrible period; yet even his just and merciful rule and noble life could not save him from the hand of the assassin. He was buried with much mourning and great pomp in the Abbey at Hexham; and during the recent excavations the fact of a Saxon interment was verified as having taken place beneath the beautiful tomb which tradition has always held to be that of King Alfwald the Just. This fact also helped to demonstrate the extent of the original Abbey.

There was a monastery at Corbridge in the year 771, which is supposed to have been founded by St. Wilfrid. Of the four churches which were erected in later times, only one survives—the parish church of St. Andrew, which occupies the site of the early monastery. In this ancient church may be seen part of the original Saxon work, and many stones of Roman workmanship are built up in the structure.

Like most other old churches in the north, it suffered severely at the hands of the Scots, and, as at Hexham Abbey, traces of fire may be seen on some of the stones.

King David of Scotland, on his invasion of England in 1138, which was to end at the “Battle of the Standard,” at Northallerton, encamped at Corbridge for a time, and terrible cruelties were committed in the district by his followers. In the next century, King John turned the little town upside down in his efforts to find treasure which he was convinced must be concealed somewhere in the houses; but his search was fruitless. In the days of the three Edwards, during the long wars with Scotland, Corbridge suffered terribly, being fired again and again; on one occasion, in 1296, the destruction included the burning of the school with some two hundred hapless boys within its walls.[[4]]

[4] See Bates, p. 149.