We returned to the yachts, and once more made sail.  We got a good view through our glasses of the old towers of Dunstanborough Castle.  As the wind fell light, we pulled in to have a look at it, papa being anxious to do so, as he had visited it in his younger days.  The weather-beaten ruin stands on the summit of a black cliff, rising sheer out of the ocean.  Three towers, one square, and the others semicircular, remain, with the greater portion of the outer wall, enclosing several acres of green turf, over which, instead of mail-clad warriors, peaceable sheep now wander.  The principal tower overlooks a deep gully or gap in the rocks, up which the sea, during easterly gales, rushes with tremendous force and terrific noise, lashed into masses of foam, which leap high over the crumbling walls.  This gully is known by the significant name of the Rumble Churn.  This ocean-circled fortress was erected--so say the chroniclers--in the fourteenth century, by Thomas, Earl of Lancaster.  Many a tale of siege and border warfare its stones could tell; for the Cheviot hills--the boundary between Scotland and England-- can be seen from the summit of its battlements.  Having bravely held out for Queen Margaret of Anjou, it was completely dismantled in the reign of Edward the Fourth, and has ever since remained like a lion deprived of its claws, crouching over the ocean, a sad memento of its former power.  Had it remained until gunpowder was in general use, it would probably have been entirely overthrown.