We ascended to the castle walls, and looked out
over the river towards the Scottish hills, which are visible in the
distance,--the Scottish border being not more than eight or nine miles
off. Carlisle Castle has stood many sieges, and witnessed many battles
under its walls. There are now, on its ramparts, only some half a dozen
old-fashioned guns, which our soldier told us had gone quite out of use
in these days. They were long iron twelve-pounders, with one or two
carronades. The soldier was of an artillery regiment, and wore the
Crimean medal. He said the garrison now here consists only of about
twenty men, all of whom had served in the Crimea, like himself. They
seem to lead a very dull and monotonous life, as indeed it must be,
without object or much hope, or any great employment of the present, like
prisoners, as indeed they are. Our guide showed us on the rampart a
place where the soldiers had been accustomed to drop themselves down at
night, hanging by their hands from the top of the wall, and alighting on
their feet close beside the path on the outside. The height seemed at
least that of an ordinary house, but the soldier said that nine times out
of ten the fall might be ventured without harm; and he spoke from
experience, having himself got out of the castle in this manner. The
place is now boarded up, so as to make egress difficult or impossible.
The castle, after all, was not particularly worth seeing.
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