rassy cliff tops edge the curve of the bay
with a line of bright and delicate colour, only thrown into greater
relief by the brown reefs and ridges which stretch out from the rocky
shores, and by the deep blue-green of the waves rolling inshore in long
majestic lines, to break into hissing foam on the sharp reefs, or slide
smoothly up the yellow sands in the centre of the bay. Above, beyond the
grassy tops of the cliffs, stretch deep woods, with the old pele-tower
of Cresswell looking out from amongst the trees, fields many-coloured
with their burden of varying crops, and wide lonely moors, where one may
walk for half a day without hearing any sound save the wild screaming of
sea-birds, or the whistle of the wind, with the low boom of the waves
below sounding a deep-toned accompaniment. The bay is not always so
peaceful, however, and many wild scenes and terrible shipwrecks have
taken place here, as everywhere along our wild north-east coast. The
Bondicar rocks, by Hauxley, and the cruel spikes of the reef at Snab
Point, near Cresswell, have betrayed many a gallant little vessel to her
doom. Not, however, without bringing on many an occasion proof of the
courage which is shown as a matter of course by the fisher folk on our
coasts. At Newbiggin, and Cresswell, for instance, deeds have been done,
which, in their simple unassuming heroism, may be taken as typical of
the hardy race which could count Grace Darling among its daughters.

About thirty years ago, a ship drove ashore off Cresswell one bitter
night in January, and the fisher folk crowded down to the shore,
watching with sorrowful eyes the hapless crew clinging to their
unfortunate vessel, which was slowly being broken up by the waves. There
was no lifeboat at Cresswell then, and all the men of the village,
except the old men who were past work, had gone northward, when the
oncoming storm prevented their return. The women and girls heard the
cries of the schooner's crew, and mourned to each other their inability
to help. But one gallant-hearted girl, named Peggy Brown, cried out, "If
I thowt she could hing on a bit, I wad be away for the lifeboat." But
between them and Newbiggin, the nearest lifeboat station, the Lyne Burn
runs into the sea, and spreads widely out over the sands; and the older
people told Peggy she could never cross the burn in the dark. She set
off, however, the thought of the drowning men hastening her on. For four
miles she made her way in the s