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Updated: June 19, 2025
"We all do things at our own risk," I said, "and he has as much right to choose his line of conduct as anybody else." "No, he hasn't," said Mr. Corbridge, "he belongs to us, and it is for us to choose his line of conduct for him." "That is nonsense," said I. "You have no more right over him than I have." "Now then," said Mr.
Scott, at least so far as I know," said Corbridge, "and he need not expect any help from him, for that ancient personage is a most arrant disbeliever in spiritualism." And with this remark he took his leave. That very afternoon came to me Amos Kilbright, his face shining with pleasure.
It stands just where the Wall crosses the Watling Street, which enters Northumberland at Ebchester, and crossing the moors to Whittonstall, leads down the long descent to Riding Mill; there turning westward to Corbridge, it comes straight on to Stagshawbank, leading thence northwestward past the Wall through Redesdale to the Borders, which it reaches at Ad Fines Camp, or Chew Green, where the solitudes of the Cheviots and the silence of the deserted camp are soon to be startled by the rifle-shots of Territorials at practice.
At a little distance from Corbridge, to the northward, is the fortified manor-house of Aydon Castle, standing embowered in trees where the Cor burn runs through a little rocky ravine, down whose steep sides Sir Robert Clavering threw most of a marauding band of Scotsmen who had attacked the grange; the place known as "Jock's Leap" obtained its name from one of the Scots who escaped the fate of his comrades by his leap for life across the ravine.
Quite close to the church there is an old pele-tower, which is in an excellent state of preservation, little of it having disappeared except the various floors. The vicars of Corbridge must have been often thankful for such a refuge at hand, where they could bid defiance to marauding bands, whether of Scottish or English nationality.
Flowing now between well ordered gardens, green meadows, and ferny banks, brawling musically over shingly shallows, or crooning gently between fringing woods, the Tyne rolls onward to Corbridge, receiving on its way the Devil's Water, a sparkling stream which flows through scenes of enchanting beauty, whether between rugged cliffs and heather clad hills as in its upper course, through the graceful overhanging trees and cool green recesses of Dipton woods or between rich meadows and green pasture-land where it loses itself in the bosom of the Tyne.
But we are not yet ready to do anything or to make our announcements, and if he had held his tongue we might have given him a pretty long string." "And do you mean," I said, "that you and your associates positively intend to dematerialize Mr. Kilbright?" "Certainly," he answered. "Then, I declare such an act would be inhuman; a horrible crime." "No," said Mr. Corbridge, "it would be neither.
In the following month he again entered England, carried fire and sword through the country as far as Corbridge, swept Tynedale, ravaged Durham, and after levying contributions for fifteen days returned with much booty to Scotland.
I was not prepared to make any answer on this point, but I went away with a firm resolution to protect Amos Kilbright in the full enjoyment of his reassumed physical existence, if the power of law, or any other power, could do it. The next morning Mr. Corbridge called on me at my office.
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.
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