for miles round, to the fair held there on Midsummer Day, when
strange ceremonies were performed in order to insure the beneficent
influence of the waters. The custom survived until the beginning of last
century, but now it is not easy to even find the position of the well.
Very few people living in Whitby or Pickering had any idea of the
grandeur of the scenery of Newton Dale when the first official journey
was made by railway between the two towns. This was in 1836, but the
coaches were drawn by horses on the levels and up the inclines, for it
was before the days of the steam-locomotive.

However, the opening of the line caused great enthusiasm and local
excitement, necessitating the services of numbers of policemen to keep
the people off the rails. When the separate coaches had been hauled to
the highest part of the dale, the horses were detached, and the vehicles
were joined up with connecting bars. Then the train was allowed to rush
through the pass at what was considered the dangerous speed of twenty
miles an hour. For the benefit of those who enjoyed the great pace, the
driver allowed the train to go at thirty miles an hour, and then, to
show his complete control over the carriages, he applied the brakes and
came to a standstill on the steep gradient. But for the existence of the
long, narrow ravine right through the heart of these lofty moors, we may
reasonably doubt whether Whitby would ever have been joined with York
other than by way of the coast-line to Scarborough.

We can cross the line near Eller Beck, and, going over Goathland Moor,
explore the wooded sides of Wheeldale Beck and its waterfalls. Mallyan's
Spout is the most imposing, having a drop of about 76 feet. The village
of Goathland has thrown out skirmishers towards the heather in the form
of an ancient-looking but quite modern church, with a low central tower,
and a little hotel, stone-built and fitting well into its surroundings.
The rest of the village is scattered round a large triangular green, and
extends down to the railway, where there is a station named after
the village.

The rolling masses of Sleights Moor rise up steeply towards the east,
and from the coach-road to Whitby that we deserted at the Saltersgate
Inn there is an enormous panorama over Eskdale, Whitby, and the sea.

CHAPTER II

ALONG THE ESK VALLEY

To see the valley of the Esk in its richest garb, one must wait for a
spell of fine autumn weather, when a prolonged