" In the years 1633 and 1665 there were
great storms, when vast numbers of sheep perished, and "the frost was
severe enough to kill broom and whins." But greater than these, both in
devastating effect and in duration, was the memorable storm of 1674. The
early part of that year was marked by extraordinarily tempestuous
weather. In January came a violent gale from east and by north that
strewed the coasts with wreckage. Down by Berwick and Eyemouth, by St.
Abb's, and along all that rugged shore, the cruel sea sported daily
with bodies of drowned sailors, flinging them from wave to wave, tossing
them headlong on to a stony beach, only with greedy far-stretched grasp
to snatch them back again to its hungry maw. In every rocky fissure,
where angry waves spout cliff-high and burst in clouds of spray; in
every rugged inlet, where the far-flung roaring seas boil furiously,
timbers and deck-hamper of vessels driven on a lee-shore churned
ceaselessly, pounding themselves to matchwood.
Throughout January, and till February was far advanced, this bitter
easterly gale blew fiercely. In mid-February the wind died down, leaving
a sky black with piled-up cloud gravid with coming evil. Inland, hill
and river lay frost-bound, white with snow, and already the pinch of
winter had begun to make itself seriously felt amongst the sheep.
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