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This rivulet (with another hereafter to be described,) is
remarkable for having been the scene of the most dreadful
and destructive inundation ever remembered in this country,
and of which may awful vestiges may to this hour be traced;
this happened on the 22d of August 1749. All the evening of
that day, horrid, tumultuous noises were heard in the air;
sometimes a puff of wind would blow with great violence,
then in a moment all was calm again. The inhabitants, used
to bosom-winds, whirlwinds, and the howling of distant
tempests among the rocks, went to bed as usual, and from the
fatigues of the day were in a sound sleep when the
inundation awoke them. About one in the morning the rain
began to fall, and before four such a quantity fell as
covered the whole face of the country below with a sheet of
water many feet deep: several houses were filled with sand
to the first storey, many more driven down; and among the
rest Legberthwate Mill, of which not one stone was left upon
another; even the heavy millstones were washed away; one was
found at a considerable distance, but the other was never
yet discovered. Several persons were obliged to climb to the
tops of the houses, to escape instantaneous death; and there
many (particularly those who were either worn out with age,
or too weak to attempt remove) were obliged to remain, in a
situation of the most dreadful suspense, till the waters
abated. Mr Mounsey of † Wallthwaite says, that when
he came down stairs in the morning, the first sight he saw
was a gander belonging to one of his neighbours, and several
planks and kitchen-utensils, which were floating about his
lower apartments, the violence of the waters having forced
open the doors on both sides of the house. The most dreadful
vestiges of this inundation, or water-spout, are at a place
called Lob-wath, a little above Wallthwaite:
here thousands of prodigious stones are piled upon each
other, to the height of eleven yards; many of these stones
are upwards of 20 ton weight each, and are thrown together
in such a manner as to be at once the object of curiosity
and horror. Those who wish to see this place must turn in at
a gate (marked in the Plan) which leads towards
Wallthwaite , and is just before you arrive at the
eleventh-mile post: it is necessary, however, to inform
travellers, that they must proceed either on horseback or on
foot to visit it, as a carriage will hardly be able to pass
this road.
The quantity of water which had fallen here is truly
astonishing, more particularly considering the small space
it had to collect in. The distance from Lob-wath to
Wolf-Cragg is not more than a mile and an half, and
there could none collect much above Wolf-Cragg; nor
did the whole rain extend more than eight miles in any
direction, as maybe seen from the Plan No.IX. At
Melfell (only three miles distant) the farmers were
leading corn all night (as is customary when they fear ill
weather,) and no rain fell there; yet such was the fury of
the descending torrent, that the fields at Fornside
exhibited nothing but devastation. Here a large tree broken
in two, there one torn up by the roots, and the ground every
where covered with sand and stones.
Many falsehoods are related of this inundation; as, that a
large stone came rolling from the mountains and rested a
little above the school-house where the master and his
scholars then were; and that this stone broke the force of
the water, which would otherwise have carried away both the
pedagogue and his pupils, together with their college: This
story tho' commonly told and believed, is a mere fiction,
and no tradition of the kind is preserved in the
neighbourhood.
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In this narrow pass is a place called Guardhouse,
where are the remains of a very strong wall; its name gives
the most probable grounds for conjecture concerning its use,
viz. That it has been a watch-tower, to guard this
defile against the incursions of invaders. An old writing,
preserved at Greystock Castle, informs us, that this was the
place of safety where the family of Threlkelds of
Threlkeld-Hall used to preserve their provisions; though I
well know, that those turbulent and uncivilized ages (of
which we have so many remains) made this precaution
necessary, I cannot help thinking
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