Two years after this, the castle was besieged by Henry IV. himself, and surrendered to him after a brief bombardment by the newly invented cannon. The keep was re-built by Hotspur’s son, after the family possessions had been restored to him by Henry V., and it is now the only remaining part of the castle which is almost perfect. One of the half-ruinous towers remaining is called the Lion Tower, from the sculptured lion on its walls; while another rejoices in the curious name of Cradyfargus. A strange story is told of a blue stone to be seen in the courtyard of the castle. Many years ago, so runs the tale, one of the custodians of Warkworth Castle dreamed three nights in succession that a large treasure was concealed beneath a blue stone in a certain part of the castle grounds. He told this dream to a neighbour, and after allowing two or three days to pass, finding the dream constantly recurring to his mind, he thought he would go to the place indicated, and see what he could find. To his disappointment, however, he discovered that some one had been there before him; a large hole had been dug, and on the edge of it lay the blue stone.
Needless to say, the hole was empty, nor could the keeper discover anything about the treasure in the neighbourhood. It is said that a certain family in the village became suddenly rich; and, many years afterwards, a large and ancient pot, supposed to have been that in which the buried treasure had been contained, was found in the Coquet.
The main street of Warkworth leads straight up to the postern gate of the castle, and many stirring sights have the successive inhabitants of the little village looked upon, as the fortunes of the owners of the castle waxed and waned throughout the many centuries in which the lords of Warkworth played a notable part in the history of England. They saw Henry Percy, entrusted with a share in the safe keeping of the country, set out from Warkworth for Durham, to help in winning the victory of Neville’s Cross.
They saw Hotspur’s force set out for the Cheviots to intercept Douglas and his followers, which they did at Homildon Hill, near Wooler; and it was the quarrel in connection with the prisoners taken on that day which led Hotspur and his father openly to throw off their allegiance to Henry IV., so that a few months later the peasants of Warkworth saw their idolised young lord set out for what was to prove the fatal field of Shrewsbury. They saw Hotspur’s father, the first Henry Percy to receive the title of Earl, (a title which had been given him at the coronation of Richard II.) set out with a brave force after Hotspur’s departure; and they saw his return, almost alone, dejected and broken in spirit, having learnt that the help so tardily given had come too late, and the life of his gallant son was ended.
They saw the siege train of Henry Bolingbroke laid against the castle, directed by Henry in person, provoked into these active measures by the open rebellion of father and son, though Northumberland had tried to make it appear that he was innocent of any treasonable act. After capturing the castle, Bolingbroke bestowed it on his third son, John of Lancaster, and the villagers saw the young prince riding in and out among them daily so long as he made the castle his home.
Then, in the next reign, they welcomed the return of Hotspur’s son, Henry, to the home of his fathers, restored to him by Henry V.; and, within a short time, saw him bring home his bride, Eleanor Neville, daughter of his friend and neighbour, the Earl of Westmoreland.
In the Wars of the Roses, Warkworth Castle saw many changes of fortune, as the tide of victory flowed this way and that. The Percies were all Lancastrians, though Sir Ralph Percy changed sides twice. The castle fell into the hands of the Yorkists, and the great Earl of Warwick, the “King-maker” himself, made it his headquarters for a time, while he superintended the sieges of Alnwick, Dunstanborough, and Bamburgh, which were all invested at the same time. Eventually, after the Wars of the Roses concluded, Warkworth was restored, along with the other Percy estates, to its original owners.
Finally, the inhabitants of the little village saw the church entered by the Jacobites in 1715, when Mr. Buxton, chaplain of the little force, prayed for James III. and Mary the Queen-mother; and General Forster, dressed as a trumpeter, proclaimed King James III. at the village cross.
A few miles north from the mouth of the Coquet, the little Aln spreads over the sandy flats near Alnmouth, and reaches the sea. It has changed its course, for at one time it flowed to the south of Church Hill, instead of to the north as at present. The town of Alnmouth, viewed from the train just before entering Alnmouth Station, looks very picturesque, especially if the rare sunshine of an English summer should be lighting up the bay, bringing out the vivid red of the tiled roofs against the grassy hills fringing the links which lie on their seaward side, and lighting up, also, the yellow sands and long lines of sparkling wavelets edged with white.
Alnmouth depends for its living on a fleet of fishing boats, and on the numbers of visitors who seek its fresh breezes and inviting shores each summer. Golfers, indeed, find it pleasant all the year round, as there is only a scarcely appreciable interval in the winter months when their favourite pastime cannot be followed on the breezy links. On Church Hill, now crowned by a few old stones, once stood a Norman church, dedicated to St. Valery, which, in its turn, occupied the site of an older Saxon building, supposed to have been the church which Bede refers to as being at Twyford, where a great synod of clergy was held in the year 684, and Cuthbert appointed Bishop of Lindisfarne. It is a matter of dispute whether this Twyford was Alnmouth or Whittingham, but the two fords at Alnmouth seem to point to a decision in favour of that place. The old Norman church, which fell into ruin at the beginning of last century, was fired at by the famous pirate Paul Jones; the cannon shot, weighing 68 pounds, missed the church, but struck a neighbouring farm house, doing great damage.