Meanwhile, General Mytton was hotly besieging the castle, which was defended, with almost unprecedented bravery, by WilliamOwain, the governor, with no more than twenty-eight followers. In vain did the clang of arms strike upon the warlike ears of Jacob;—he might have exclaimed, in the language of Othello—
“Farewell the plumed troop, and the big warWhich makes ambition virtue—oh farewell!”
“Farewell the plumed troop, and the big warWhich makes ambition virtue—oh farewell!”
But, as he never read such profane authors, he contented himself with a pious curse or two every second on the witch who had reduced him to such a state of feebleness. He who was once foremost in the onset, whose voice would animate his soldiers with a religious zeal, and oft reclaim the fortune of the fight—the brawny, fearless Presbyterian lay like a puling infant on his bed, wasted and pale, with scarcely breath enough to render himself audible to those around him.
Sorely did Mytton need his aid, his reckless daring in leading an assault—for the stimulating energy of his example was electric.
One night, when he heard the loud shouts of the enemy, and the declining voices of his friends, Jacob grasped his sword, and, starting from his bed, rushed, or rather staggered, to the barbican, which had been scaled by a small body of theparliament forces, who surprised the warders at the drawbridge, which crossed the fosse upon the inside, when, from the interior a body of the royalists rushed with desperate valour, the assailing party were forced to retreat by opening the massy gate of the barbican, but not without leaving many wounded and dying comrades in the deep fosse, into which they had been thrown during the struggle on the drawbridge. At this critical moment, when disgrace appeared to hang over the banner of his leader, Jacob,en chemise, forced his way into the scene of action, striking terror to the foe, who took him for an apparition, and invigorating the hearts of his friends. The royalists, who had advanced, were driven back again in their turn.
But the hope of victory betrayed the besiegers to their ruin. Jacob, determined to take the castle or die, with a huge axe was cutting through the drawbridge to deprive his followers of all hope of escape, by retreating that way; and the battle became furious beneath the double portcullis which crowns the principal entrance. The besieged were driven nearly into the inner court, when the mighty voice of Owain cried aloud—“Let fall the portcullis!” So promptly was this order obeyed, that the outer and inner grating enclosed the besiegers, as in acage, and left them entirely at the mercy of their conquerors.
Fortunately for Jacob, his weakness prevented him from carrying his purpose into effect, and he retired, covered with confusion, to his bed, while his companions whom he was forced to leave behind, resigned their arms, through the inner grating, to their enemies, and were then committed to the dungeons of the fortress.
On the morning after this defeat, a party of men, who had been sent into the mountains to forage for goats, sheep, or provender of any kind that might fall in their way, chanced to pass near old Janet’s dwelling, and they resolved to revenge the cruel persecution of their captain, if they could light upon the witch, who had occasioned his long sufferings. Accordingly, they entered the cottage, where they perceived, before the dying embers of a turf fire, the waxen image with which she worked the charm, almost wasted away, but still bearing a strong resemblance to Jacob Strongith-arm. This they seized, and instantly committed to the water, placing, at the same time, some dried wood upon the turf, which, with the aid of some gunpowder, was ignited. A quantity of dried furze and heather was then piled upon it, and, in ashort time, the flames communicated with the rafters of every part of the building.
As they turned from the cottage, one of the party perceived an old woman floating upon a plank on the lake, twisting and jumping, capering and splashing, in a manner that made his hair stand on end. It was old Janet herself, whose imps had deserted her, or he would never have been able to detect her at her pastime. There she floated, twirling about, sometimes on one leg, and then upon the other, till all of them being convinced it was the witch, they resolved to seize her, and convey her to the General.
Three of them, named John Brown, James Haddock, and Joseph Stilt, being the most courageous of the party, volunteered to capture her, though the devil himself stood at her elbow, while she, not knowing that her imp, Robin, whose power made her invisible to mortal eyes, had quitted her, kept dancing on, without dreaming of any harm that could befall her from the approach of mortals, although the plank upon which she stood nearly touched the border of the pool. Suddenly, Joseph Stilt, who was the foremost, roared out—“The witch! the witch!—we have her!” Janet then, for the first time, felt afraid; but she still had somepower left, and Joseph Stilt, as he made a spring to come up with her, stuck fast in a quagmire as deep as his chin, close to the edge of the lake, where he remained storming, without the power to extricate himself. James Haddock, who leaped over his head, sank to the bottom, and narrowly escaped drowning. But John Brown, who always carried a verse of scripture in front of his hat, calling on the Virgin for support, alighted on the plank by the witch’s side, and, seizing her by the hair, ferried her to a safe landing place, when his comrades, James Haddock, and Joseph Stilt, having been assisted, by their fellows, out of jeopardy, assisted him to convey her to Harlech, where they were told that the dreadful exudations of Jacob had ceased, and, upon comparing their accounts, they found that his recovery commenced at the very moment when they flung his waxen effigy into the water, and set fire to the witch’s hut.
When Janet was brought before the General and Jacob Strongith-arm, she laughed to see his once stout frame dwindled as it was, and her laugh frightened them all; so they tied her to a stake, and then began to question her; but she disdained to make any reply. They then tried the torture of the thumb-screw, but Janet onlyspat in their faces, for the devil was strong within her; and James Haddock lost his eye, from the heat of her saliva. The soldiers marvelled at her obstinacy, and Jacob, growing full of ire, commanded them to fire a harquebuss at her, if she persisted in her stubbornness. But this threat only increased the fiendish laugh of old Janet into a yell of scorn. All threats proving useless, the harquebussier fired his piece. But how were they astonished to see the witch grinning defiance at them all, and holding the ball up between her right finger and thumb! Another was fired at her, which she caught in the left! Stilt, mad to see her triumph thus, ran at her with his sword, which shivered to pieces upon her breast; and all this time the witch laughed, and spat at, and reviled them. At length, Brown, who had first arrested her, remembering he had been told that a witch, if bled in any of the veins that cross the temples would soon give up the ghost, walked boldly up to her, when the devil, scared at his intentions, instantly quitted his votaress, and she, left helpless, could only storm, and rave, and curse, and beg for life. But Brown drew the keen blade across the full purple veins, and, with a scream of terror, she fell to the ground.
Many crimes did she confess to the holy man, who attended her last moments; besides the one just related, which render “the little hollow,” a spot of fearful interest to the mountaineer, who, as he passes the lake at nightfall, turns many an anxious glance behind, and fancies that he hears, at times, the sound of unearthly voices in the gale, that sweeps by him in this wild and lonely dell.
The castle was soon after surrendered to the Parliament forces, by its brave commander, who had the honor of knowing, that he was the last, who yielded up the trust confided to him, by his sovereign.
Our repast being concluded, we again mounted our horses, and commenced an ascent up a dank, cheerless hollow, calledBwlch Tyddiad. Nothing can exceed the wildness of the scenery, by which we were surrounded. Huge masses of rock, riven by the thunder bolt, or loosened by the frost, lay scattered in every direction, while, towering upon either side, the herbless mountains frowned, barren, black, grey, and terrible.
Our horses, accustomed, I presume, to such excursions, picked their way with the greatest care and safety, and my “Gallant Brown,”cleared every impediment, as if he had been foaled amongst the Alps, and loved them better than the verdant plain. Drawing nearer to the top of the cliff, the shepherds had made a stair-like path of flat stones, along which our cavalcade proceeded with caution; when suddenly we halted upon hearing the distant halloos of travellers ascending the opposite side of the mountain; and presently three persons, one of whom was leading a wearied animal by the bridle, became distinctly visible. A shout of recognition from our party roused all the echoes of the surrounding hills. The figures, as they became more distinct, seemed magically transported with myself into the heart of the Sierra Morena, where Cardenio, Don Quixote, and Sancho Panza, appeared to me in their proper persons; for never was description better realized, than in the figures that now presented themselves. The first was a handsome, well formed man, with light brown hair, which hung in plentiful thickness upon his shoulders; his untrimmed beard, joined by overhanging moustachios, and the two being united to the upper growth, by a pair of whiskers, the luxuriance of which shewed they were permitted to grow in uninterrupted freedom. His throat was bare, and his dress negligent. The second figure that attracted myattention, was a very tall and extremely thin young man, with a serious cast of features, that would have done honor to the knight of the woful countenance. In his hand he led a jaded hack, which in the ascent seemed to have yielded up three parts of its existence. Here then was the Rosinante of Cervantes in a breathing form; while, by his side, a short good humoured little man, with a huge portmanteau buckled on his back, walked like a faithful squire, and made an admirable substitute for the immortal Sancho; and, as he turned his eyes from precipice to glen, it required no great stretch of imagination, to think they were wandering in search of his beloved Dapple. We met upon a patch of green moss; and here our hamper was again unpacked, to cheer the hearts of these toil worn travellers.
View from Carreg y Saeth
By their advice, we ascended to the summit of the mountain, the view from which was grand and extensive. To the eastward, a vast country lies beneath, bounded by Cader Idris, the two Arrenigs, and a long range of mountains. Immediately under the lofty eminence, upon which we rested, was a small round lake, and the pass Ardudwy, which exceeds even the celebrated Llanberris in rugged grandeur. The way by which our new companions ascended was bothlaborious and dangerous; but they would not have sacrificed the prospect now presented to them on any account. North and south the eye glances over the summits of wild mountains, and to the west the Carnaervonshire chain, cut in two, as it were, by a high mountain, immediately before us, forms the shore of a noble sheet of water, resembling a spacious lake, where the sea stretches its arm, into the vale of Maentwrog, out of Cardigan Bay. The declining sun gave us warning that it was time to quit these wilds, and make the best of our way to the foot of the mountain.
The return is extremely hazardous on horseback. The ladies of the party, therefore, resigning their steeds to the conduct of some mountaineers, and the gentlemen leading their horses by the bridle, commenced the descent. But as I could not, from lameness, advantage myself by like caution, and feeling confident in the tact, strength, and docility of my favourite, I led the way, without experiencing the slightest symptom of uneasiness.
When we had proceeded about half way down, a circumstance occurred, that occasioned some unpleasantness. A horse had broken loose from one of the leaders, and at full speed came galloping down the steep and rugged descent.The animal conducted by the tall, thin gentlemen, before described, started as his fellow quadruped rushed by him, and, freeing himself from control, dashed after him, at an alarming pace; leaving his late master, with eyes starting out of their sockets, and mouth wide open, with affright, his arms spread out, and his whole frame in convulsions of terror, upon the top of a large stone, ludicrously bewildered. My steed, evincing the truth of the proverb, “evil communications” etc. for a moment lost his presence of mind, and despising my efforts to restrain him, bounded over sundry perilous rocky fragments, in desperate pursuit. However, by divers forcible arguments, I at length succeeded in convincing him of his error, and he returned to his duty.
The two runaways were soon out of sight, and as we concluded they had broken their necks, we moved rather solemnly to the bottom of the hollow, where our fears were dissipated, by finding them quietly browsing in the green meadows, where we had before seated ourselves at pic-nic. All here remounted; the sun’s rays still lingering upon the heights ofCarreg-y-Saeth, but the pool below looked black and cheerless. As we proceeded, the beautiful calm light of evening, the cool and refreshing air,“the shard borne beetle, with his drowsy hum,” the forest flies and midges dancing in the clear ether, the murmuring of mountain streams, and the joyous notes of our little party, uniting with the sharp tones of our horses’ shoes, clinking against the rocky fragments, formed a combination of pleasing sounds and images in this romantic solitude, which I shall ever remember with feelings of interest and delight. After riding about three miles, surrounded by every charm that could make the time pass pleasantly, we arrived at the place of parting. A road branching to the right led directly to Harlech, a distance of about two miles; and here, with a feeling of regret, I hardly ever before experienced, I took leave of my kind conductor, and his agreeable friends, a man being appointed to walk with me as far as Harlech, for the purpose of taking back his master’s horse.
Slowly and sadly I pursued my solitary ride, nor did I once address my attendant, until I arrived at the inn, where dismounting, I committed to his charge my gallant supporter throughout the day.
Harlech—The Inn—The Castle—Anecdote of Dafydd ap Ivan ap Einion—Road to Maentwrog—View—A persevering Cobbler—The Oakley Arms—Pleasures of Fly fishing—New Companions—Angling Stations—An Adventure—Road to Tremadoc—Tan y Bwlch—Port Madoc Breakwater and Mountain Scenery described—Tremadoc—Tan yr Allt—Pont Aber Glas Llyn—Lines written at the Bridge—Beddgelert—The Inn—Story of a Pointer.
“Rise from thy haunt, dread genius of the clime,Rise, magic spirit of forgotten time!’Tis thine to burst the mantling clouds of age,And fling new radiance on Tradition’s page:See at thy call from Fable’s varied store,In shadowy train the mingled visions pour;Here the wild Briton ’mid his wilder reign,Spurns the proud yoke and scorns the oppressor’s chain,Here wizard Merlin, where the mighty fell,Waves the dark wand and chaunts the thrilling spell.”Prize Poem, T. S. S.
“Rise from thy haunt, dread genius of the clime,Rise, magic spirit of forgotten time!’Tis thine to burst the mantling clouds of age,And fling new radiance on Tradition’s page:See at thy call from Fable’s varied store,In shadowy train the mingled visions pour;Here the wild Briton ’mid his wilder reign,Spurns the proud yoke and scorns the oppressor’s chain,Here wizard Merlin, where the mighty fell,Waves the dark wand and chaunts the thrilling spell.”
Prize Poem, T. S. S.
TheBlue Lion Inn, built by Sir R. W. Vaughan,for the accommodation of travellers and tourists, is most delightfully situated. A carriage road from the north leads round to the front, which faces the sea; and forming a semicircle, permits the vehicles to drive, through a gate on the south end of the house, again into the high road. Great taste is displayed in the erection of this pleasant building; the parapet wall, with its circular turrets, in which seats are placed for the accommodation of visitors, and the terrace with its neat shrubberies. I must also acknowledge, that the kind attention of the landlord and his servants, deserves the highest commendation.
The view from the terrace is indescribably beautiful. The sea lies stretched beneath; the majestic ruins of Harlech Castle stand upon a rocky base, frowning in solitary grandeur upon the right; and beyond, the long line of Carnaervonshire hills projects, like Cambria’s lance, forbidding the waves to make further inroads upon her territories.
Pwlhelli and Port Maddock are distinctly visible from this spot; and the lovers of fine prospects may remain at the Blue lion for a week, without wishing to stray further than the terrace in search of the sublime and beautiful. The continual variety of light and shadow, withwhich the mountains are alternately robed, the freshness of the air, and the solemn majesty of the ruined fortress, form altogether a volume for the mind to peruse with intense and unwearied interest.
The present castle was built by Edward I. in 1283, upon the ruins of one erected byMaelgwn Gwynedd, Prince of North Wales, in 530. It was seized by the Welsh hero, Owen Glyndwr, during his struggle for freedom against Henry IV, and was retaken about four years afterwards, by an army sent by that monarch into Wales. After the defeat of Henry VI. at Northampton, this castle afforded a retreat for his queen, but being hotly pursued by the Lord Stanley, she was compelled to fly from hence with great precipitation, leaving her jewels and other valuables behind her.
Harlech Castle
In 1468, this place was in possession of Dafydd-ap-Ivan-ap-Einion, a man of singular strength and beauty, and of unconquerable bravery. Being a firm friend to the Lancastrian line, the Earl William of Pembroke was despatched to reduce the fortress; and, after encountering incredible difficulties, marchingthrough the very heart of the British Alps, he at length invested the castle, and committed the management of the siege to his brother Sir Richard Herbert, a man equal in size and prowess to the British commandant. The reply of the Welshman, when called upon to surrender, deserves to be handed down as a specimen of bravery and loyalty. He had never acknowledged the sovereignty of Edward; and for nine years, had defied his threats. His answer was in keeping with the line of conduct he had adopted: “Tell your leader,” said he to the messenger, “that some years ago I held a castle in France against its besiegers so long, that all the old women in Wales talked of me: tell your commander, that I intend to defend this Welsh castle now, until all the old women in France shall hear of it.”
Famine, however, at last subdued him; but he yielded only upon honourable terms, Sir Richard pledging himself for his safety. The king at first refused to subscribe to the conditions; but Sir Richard, with a spirit that cannot be sufficiently applauded, instantly informed his majesty that he must take his own life first; for if he lived he would certainly replace the Welsh chieftain in his strong hold again. The king was too well acquainted with the value of SirRichard’s services and scrupulous honour, to persist in his unjust intentions. He therefore, ratified the conditions, and pardoned the chief. But the brave Englishman was soon after recalled from his military command.
In the civil wars of Charles I. Harlech Castle was the last that held out for the king, under the command of William Owain, who surrendered on the ninth of March, 1647.
Upon the side which faces the sea, the castle must have been impregnable; the walls are scarcely distinguishable from the rocky base, the whole being a continued surface of dark grey masonry; and the north and south sides appear nearly as inaccessible. The gateway upon the eastward side is situated between two immense rounders, resembling those of Conway and Carnaervon. The form of the castle is a square, each side measuring seventy yards, and at each corner is a round tower; but the turrets that were once attached to them the unsparing hand of Time has destroyed. Before the entrance is a deep fosse, cut in the solid rock; across which a drawbridge was constructed for security and convenience.
The principal apartments are on the eastward, or entrance, side of the inner court. The banqueting hall is opposite; the windowsof which look out upon the green surface of the sea; and, on the right of the court, there formerly stood a small chapel; the ruins of which are still visible, the pointed window remaining entire. It is impossible to conceive a finer view than is obtained from the towers of Harlech Castle. With a clear atmosphere, the monarch of the Welsh mountains may be distinctly seen, towering above his subject hills. The promontories of Lleyn and Cricaeth Castle, are likewise objects of considerable interest; the latter forming a head to a long neck of land that juts into the sea from the Carnaervonshire coast, backed by a chain of noble mountains. This castle likewise owes its foundation to Edward I.
Harlech is one of those places the traveller leaves with regret, and a feeling that he can never see any so beautiful again; and from this place to the village of Maentwrog, the road increases in beauty every mile.
The Bay of Cardigan, expanding to the ocean, lies beneath, on the left; upon the right, wild rocks and woody hills alternately diversify the prospect, and, approaching the northern extremity of the bay, the Traith Mawr and Traith Bach, two arms of the sea (the former running up to Port Madoc, and the latter into the vale of Maentwrog), are noble objects.
The Traith Bach, bounded by mountains upon either side, prepares the tourist for the heavenly quietude which reigns eternally in the bosom of this earthly paradise; and, about two miles from the village, near a farm house called Cemlyn, one of the most beautiful views of the valley lies stretched before him. A woody dingle opens on the right, down which the Velin Rhyd rushes impetuously, mingling its bright waters with the smoothly meandering Dwyryd, which commingling, flow gracefully into Cardigan Bay.
In front, and upon the right of the vale, lies the little picturesque village of Maentwrog, reposing at the foot of a lofty mountain. Fine green meadow lands enrich the centre of the valley, through which the river, like a silver serpent, “drags its slow length along.” Upon the opposite side is seen the mansion of Tan y Bwlch, backed by a mountain forest, and ornamented by a noble terrace in front, with pleasure grounds and walks, which the eye loves to rest upon.
The Vale of Maentwrog
The road to Festiniog, at the extreme point of the landscape, winds up the enclosing hills that fill up the back ground. To be appreciated, the view must be seen: the most glowing description would fall incalculably short of the reality.
At this spot I was accosted by a very inquisitive personage.
“Fine evening, sir.”
“Yes.”
“Walking far to-day, sir?”
“Yes.”
“A great many gentlemen come from London to see this valley, sir.”
“I suppose so,” (trying to shake him off, but it would not do).
“You come from London, I think, sir?”
“Why do you think so?”
“Only because a great many London people come this way, sir.”
“But do not many other travellers come this road, who are not Londoners?”
“Oh yes, sir, but I took you for a Londoner by the cut of your coat. You’ve come a long way to-day, sir?”
“I have, but how should you know that?”
“By the condition of your boots, sir.”
This was a hit I did not anticipate; for, truth to say I was nearly bootless, at least thesoleshad nearly left theirbodies, upper leathers I mean, and stood mortally in need of regeneration; and, as I had not provided myself with a second pair, thinking they would prove cumbersome in my knapsack, his remark was felt from toe to heel.
“You’ll want these repaired, I dare say, sir, while you remain at the Oakley Arms—comfortable inn—capital beds, sir.”
“Why I think I shall, my friend; perhaps you can recommend me to a cobbler, in the village yonder,” (pointing to Maen Twrog).
“I am a boot maker, sir, in the village, and have cobbled, as you are pleased to call it, the soles of all strangers in need, for the last twenty years. My father performed that office before me; and I may say, my all (awl) of life depends upon the gentlemen who visit our beautiful valley.”
“You are not employed then by the inhabitants of your native village?”
“Iwas, sir; but a new comer, who wrote over his door ‘leather cutter,’ cut me out; for I never found business enough to set up a shop, and so, sir, I am obliged to watch for customers, to keep up my trade. Those boots of yours, sir, will give me dinners for half the week, if you will only let me give them welts, soles, and heel-taps. You’ve got a fine foot, sir.”
This piece of gross flattery did not prevent my telling him to follow me to the inn, and receive the reward of his perseverance and industry.
I was tired, and gladly resigned my dilapidated boots to the care of mysoles’physician; who, with a most respectful bow, promised to let me have them by eight o’clock on the following morning.
Having partaken of a most excellent dish of fish, a small portion of roasted mutton, strawberry tartlet, cheese, celery, &c., I thought I should like to try my fortune in the lovely stream of Dwyryd. I therefore requested the waiter to procure me the loan of a pair of shoes or boots, suitable for the purpose, proposing to pay for the accommodation. I was soon supplied, and, anticipating a delightful evening’s sport, sallied forth with complete apparatus.
How deceitful are the views of man! I cast my line—it was a fatal cast—I struck at an imaginary or real rise, and in an instant all my hopes were crushed; for my rod broke off at the second joint, and sailing down the stream, was suddenly brought up by one of the flies hooking a fragment of rock. With much trouble I recovered the shattered top pieces, but inendeavouring to extricate my fly, my foot slipped, and I found myself up to my waist in water, and my foot jammed between two pieces of rock at the bottom, from whence I was glad to extricate it by leaving my shoe behind. It was very unfortunate. I cursed my ill-luck, sat down upon the bank, put up my flies, put my broken rod in its case, and prepared to return to my inn. But—I had only one shoe! I endeavoured to recover the lost one, but in vain. Doubtless it was buffetting its way amongst rushing waters and fragments of rock, full half a mile off by this time. How I should get to the Oakley Arms, through all the uneven stony ways, I knew not. I could not hop all the way, it was very evident; and to attempt to walk with but one shoe, would deprive me of the sole of my foot. At this moment, taking out my silk handkerchief to wipe my brows—ah!—the thing was settled. I bound it as many times doubled as I could round my foot, tying it about with a part of my fishing line, and in this lamentable state, I reached the house.
No routed warrior from the field of battle ever looked more chop-fallen than I, in re-entering my late happy dining-room. It was not an hour—no, not an hour ago—when, all elate and joyous, I walked forth, pregnant with hope and jollity. Lookat me now—’twas lamentable! I rang the bell; the waiter came in, and no sooner cast his eyes on me, than he broke into an uncontrollable laugh. I confess I expected a very different reception, and my first impulse was to kick him out of the room; but casting my eyes upon my handkerchief-bound foot, turned the whole current of my feelings, and I could not forbear joining in the laugh, for the soul of me.
The waiter’s view of the case was undoubtedly the correct one. I felt it, and it was actually with difficulty I accounted to him for my present appearance, my ideas had undergone so complete a revolution from tragic to comic!
“Well—’tis a funny world,” said I; “bring me a pair of slippers, water to wash, a bottle of port, and a cigar.”
I was just in the marrow of my cigar, when two young gentlemen, who had pedestrianized from Llanrwst since the morning, entered the room. They were fair-haired Saxons, and particularly unacquainted with all they had seen in their route. I requested them to join me, and they were pleased to honour me with their company. But their stock of information being remarkably small, I resolved within myself to avoid the route they intended to pursue on the following morning, and understanding theymeant to visit Harlech Castle, I informed them I should pursue my way to Tremadoc. As I could not extract any information from these tourists, I called for pen, ink and paper, and amused myself with putting down the events of the day, while one of the young men flung his legs upon the sofa, and the other placed his feet on the fender. Deep sonorous notes soon succeeded this arrangement, and I pursued my task without any other interruption, until my attention was drawn to the heavy pattering of rain against the window, and the whistling of a keen wind through the passage. I felt chilly, and drew nearer the fire. The task I imposed upon myself being finished, and the servant having brought me my bed candlestick, I retired to rest, leaving my agreeable companions in the midst of a nasal duet.
Oh, the comforts of a clean room, clean sheets, and a good bed! These I experienced at the Oakley Arms; and I arose refreshed, and eager to commence my walk; but I was doomed to disappointment, for on drawing up the blind of my window, a dark and dismal morning presented itself, the rain falling in torrents, and the lovely valley transformed into a gloomy gorge of rolling clouds. What’s to be done? thought I; jump into bed again, answered my careful spirit. Iobeyed the suggestion, and slept another hour, when I again awoke, and on inspection found the day still melancholy and tearful.
I descended to the breakfast room, and there I found my quondam companions in precisely the same attitudes I had left them on the preceding night;—as motionless and silent, but their musical instruments were out of order, I suppose, as they no longer sent forth their former deep tones, and their eyes indeed were differently directed; the gentleman on the sofa inspecting the ceiling; the other profoundly scrutinizing a Dutch figure on the chimney-piece, with a foaming pot of porter in one hand, and a short pipe in the other. It was neither Souter Johnny, nor Toby Philpot; but I involuntarily roared out “dear Tom, this brown jug,” &c. It was like an electric shock to the tourists. One leaped from the sofa, and the other withdrew his feet from the fender with precipitation; first stared at each other, and then both at me, in mute astonishment. I cheerfully bade them good-morrow, and we sat down to breakfast.
Never did I pray more heartily for a shelter from the storm, than I did now for a gleam of sunshine to cheer me in this horrid calm. These rival Incubuses fretted me.—Ha! who’s that curtseying to me as she passes?—Oh she opensher basket, intimating she has something to sell; they are hose, I perceive. The rain increases rather than abates its violence.
“Come hither, my girl,” said I, as I beckoned her to come in. “She will assist in beguiling the tedious morning,
“That like a foul and ugly witchDoes limp so tediously away.”
“That like a foul and ugly witchDoes limp so tediously away.”
And, having nothing better to do, I put the events of our interview into rhyme.
TRAVELLER.“Where art thou going, pretty lass?The rain falls thick and fast;Come in, and dry thy mantle, maid,And shun the bleak cold blast.”GIRL.“I heed not, sir, the mountain gale,Nor thickly falling rain;For my poor mother lies at homeIn sickness and in pain;And I must haste to sell my work,And much I have to spare,That I may purchase winter storeTo free her mind from care.For she is old, and quite infirm,And child hath none but me,And oh her heart is yearning nowMy face again to see.”TRAVELLER.“Cold is the heart that would not beatTo see that face of thine,Where sweet simplicity hath tracedHer lineaments divine.”She turned away her head to hideA tear upon her cheek;While piety beamed in her eye,And resignation meek.GIRL.“Oh do not, do not stay me, sir,For I must to the fair,To sell my hose, and purchase food,And things for winter wear.”TRAVELLER.“I’ll buy thy hose; thou shalt not walkBeneath the drenching rain,But tarry here until the sunShines brightly forth again.”Her hose were bought, she sought her homeWith smiles upon her face;Her heart was light, her eyes were brightHer every motion, grace.And happy was the traveller’s heartWhen bidding her farewell;Her glance of gratitude, said all,And more, than tongue could tell.
TRAVELLER.
“Where art thou going, pretty lass?The rain falls thick and fast;Come in, and dry thy mantle, maid,And shun the bleak cold blast.”
GIRL.
“I heed not, sir, the mountain gale,Nor thickly falling rain;For my poor mother lies at homeIn sickness and in pain;And I must haste to sell my work,And much I have to spare,That I may purchase winter storeTo free her mind from care.For she is old, and quite infirm,And child hath none but me,And oh her heart is yearning nowMy face again to see.”
TRAVELLER.
“Cold is the heart that would not beatTo see that face of thine,Where sweet simplicity hath tracedHer lineaments divine.”She turned away her head to hideA tear upon her cheek;While piety beamed in her eye,And resignation meek.
GIRL.
“Oh do not, do not stay me, sir,For I must to the fair,To sell my hose, and purchase food,And things for winter wear.”
TRAVELLER.
“I’ll buy thy hose; thou shalt not walkBeneath the drenching rain,But tarry here until the sunShines brightly forth again.”Her hose were bought, she sought her homeWith smiles upon her face;Her heart was light, her eyes were brightHer every motion, grace.And happy was the traveller’s heartWhen bidding her farewell;Her glance of gratitude, said all,And more, than tongue could tell.
By the time I had committed this little effusion to paper, the sun shone out gloriously; and it had the astonishing effect of giving a sort of animation to the mute gentlemen, who absolutely rose from their drowsy postures and walked to the window. Thank heaven! I mentally exclaimed; I have a chance now of getting rid of my “musty superfluity;” but I was mistaken.
“You will now be able to start for Harlech,” said I.
“Why a—” drawled one, “I am afraid it’s too late, as we wish to get to bed early to-night. What do you say, Tom?”
“Why I think so too, Dick; and so we’ll be happy to join you, sir, in your walk, as I think you said you intended proceeding to Tremadoc.”
I said I should be happy, with a smile, that extracted from one of them the question, “Ain’t you well, sir?”
Without replying, I proceeded to put up my little all in the knapsack; having first desired the waiter to bring my bill.
“You’d better put it all together, and we can divide it,” said they.
I agreed, and it being discharged, after paying for the shoes which I borrowed for my evening’s sport, and for the repairing, which was excellently performed by my loquacious cobbler, I started with my two hopeful friends for Tremadoc. We however, first went to view the grounds of Tan-y-bwlch, the seat of W. G. Oakley Esq. The name signifies “below the pass:” it is situated on the side of a hill which overlooks the vale.
From the terrace of this mansion you command one of the most romantic views in Wales. Harlech Castle is visible upon the right; the Merionethshire mountains tower in the distance, and the entire valley, from Festiniog to Traeth Bychen, watered by the river Dwyryd, is interesting beyond description. Lord Lyttleton tells us, in his observations upon this valley, that an honest Welsh farmer, who died there at 105 years of age, had by his first wife thirty children, ten by his second, and four by his third. His eldest son was eighty-one years older than his youngest, and 800 persons, descended from his body, attended his funeral.
I should be doing injustice to the worthy landlord of the Maentwrog Inn, whose house I usedupon my second visit to this delightful valley, did I not speak in praise of his attention to the comforts of all travellers. Good beds, civil waiters, excellent fare, and cheap charges, render this one of the very best inns in Wales. And hear, ye lingering tourists! you may have bed and board for the inconsiderable sum of one guinea per week; which I think a very considerable temptation to remain at it a month, for there is sufficient in the neighbourhood to interest the most phlegmatic of Adam’s progeny. From hence may be visited the following interesting places. The village of Festiniog, three miles, where there are two good inns, the Pengwern Arms, and the Newborough Arms, where post horses and cars are always in readiness; there is also a good boarding-house kept by Miss Owen. The falls of Cynfael, two and a half; the slate quarries, five and a half; the cataracts of the Rhaiadr Du and Ravenfall, two miles; Llyn Llyanyrch, three and a half, where the trout are excellent; Cwmorddin Pool, lies to the northward, about four and a half miles, to which the tourist may be conducted by the railroad. There is a house at each end of the lake where the angler will find accommodation from the hospitable owners for a trifling remuneration. Lynn Mannot contains very large trout, and is six miles from Maentwrog,and Llyn Morwynion is about the same distance.
The Raven Fall, near Maentwrog
We proceeded along the lower road by the north side of the salts, as the inhabitants of the valley call the arm of the sea, which here has the appearance of a lake begirt with mountains, craggy cliffs, and shadowing woods. Here we bade adieu to the delightful valley of Festiniog, and, after walking about four miles along a pleasant road, a noble sheet of water met our eyes, which appeared to be hemmed in by inaccessible mountains, differing in form from those we had left behind, being more conical, and some shooting upwards like pyramids into the clouds.
As we proceeded, we discovered it to be the Traeth Mawr, which as the sea is hidden from us by a breakwater, has the appearance of a broad lake.
Upon this breakwater, which extends across the bay, is a railroad which conveys slates from the quarries at Festiniog to Port Madoc, where it is calculated ten thousand tons are shipped annually. Port Madoc receives its name from the late William Alexander Maddoc Esq., of Tan-y-allt, as does the town of Tremadoc.
The extraordinary efforts of this enterprising man caused him to be looked up to as thePrince of the soil. He redeemed, by constructing an embankment of nearly one mile in length from north to south, across the Traeth Mawr, at the eastern extremity of Cardigan Bay, a tract of more than 2,700 acres of land. This enterprise was completed in 1811, and cost upwards of £100,000; so that, with the lands previously recovered, no less than 7000 acres have been regained, 6000 of which are cultivated.
The view from the breakwater is perhaps the finest in North Wales for distant mountain scenery. When the tourist has reached the centre of it, let him turn his back upon the sea, and upon his right he will perceive a hill, called Plas Newedd, from which a range of Alpine scenery stretches up to the monarch of Snowdonia, who towers pre-eminent in the distance. Upon his left another range, commencing with a hill called Moel Ghaist, leads up to the same grand object, and the extraordinary variety displayed in the formation of these wonderful masses with varying lights and shadows that adorn them with sunny crowns or misty mantles, produce a sublimity of effect I never before experienced. A bridge joins the breakwater to the quay at Port Madoc, under which the tide rushes with great impetuosity, covering a vast extent of ground at the flood, which is left nearlydry at the ebb. About half a mile from Port Madoc, upon a rising ground, stands a handsome house, once the property, though not the principal residence, of the great speculator, which is now inhabited by Mr. Williams, a solicitor, and agent to the creditors of the deceased. Proceeding along the road, in a short time the tourist obtains a peep at the little town of Tremadoc; but before reaching it he perceives the church, an elegant building, with a tower and lofty spire, which forms a principal object in the landscape. The archway, under which the church is approached, is a beautiful specimen of workmanship, and does equal credit to the taste of the founder and execution of the builder. Divine service is read here in the English language every Sunday, which is a great accommodation to the English families residing in the neighbourhood, as there is no other church within twenty miles where it is so performed.
or the town of Madoc, is built quadrangularly, and in the centre of the square is a column with a pedestal, round which are twelve steps. On the eastern side is a commodious market house,above which are the assembly rooms. A market is held here on Fridays, and the Barmouth and Carnaervon coach passes through three times a-week.
Having refreshed ourselves with a luncheon of salad and cold meat, we three trudged off together, in spite of wind and weather, which threatened a speedy commencement of hostilities. Large masses of vapoury clouds were driven above our heads; the swallows skimmed the surface of the river, and brushed the standing corn with their swift wings, as they flew along in the pursuit of their prey; and the wind blew loud and shrilly, as in the month of November. At a short distance from the town, upon the Beddgelert road, is a lofty hill, the base of which is planted with fir trees; through which a path winds up to the mansion of Tan-yr-allt, the late beautiful residence of Mr. Madocks. We had not proceeded far, when we were compelled to seek shelter in a hollow, of which there are many at the feet of the enormous precipices which overhang the road.
The transient storm having passed away, and sunshine once more lighting up the valley, we again pushed forward. The Merionethshire mountains upon the right, decked in their countless hues of rock and heather, over which the departingstorm swept with its rolling clouds, in dark magnificence, formed a noble subject for the artist’s pencil. The road is elevated above the meadows which enrich the centre of the vale; and the river, which flows through them, having risen above its banks and spread itself over a considerable tract of country, resembled an extensive lake.
About half way between Tremadoc and Beddgelert, is a small dingle upon the left of the road, with a neat lodge at the entrance, and a path leading up to the shrubbery, beneath which a mountain stream flows rapidly, and empties itself into the Rhine. The path leads up to the residence of Capt. Parry. As we proceeded, numerous falls dashed down the mountains and plunging into hollows underneath the road, emerged again upon the other side. We were several times forced to take shelter from the heavy showers under fallen blocks of rock; and once as the storm abated, and we looked anxiously out to see if it was clear enough to pursue our journey, a glorious rainbow, stretching across the valley, its points resting upon the mountains on either side, struck even my snow-models of men with something like sensibility; for as they crept out of their sheltering rock, they observed with infantine simplicity, “Well, really that’svery pretty.” We now proceeded at a rapid pace, and the river became more deep and narrow, and the circling eddies, as they floated down the stream, announced to us that we were approaching the fall of a great body of water, when suddenly—whizz, whirr, clash, splash, dash, astounding and astonishing—
Pont Aber Glaslyn
with all its world of horrors, burst at once upon our view. I felt a tremulous sensation within me; a contraction of the muscles of my throat; an hysterical sob, and a desire to weep. I stood stone still; while my edifying companions pursued their way without making a single observation. I halted upon the centre of the bridge, and gave vent to my feelings in pencilling down the following
Thou of the stormy soul, who left behindThe love of sunny skies and smiling vales,With thy fresh boyhood; thou upon whose browStern care hath written gloom, and worldly wrongsMade darksome; hither bend thy leaden steps,And find a home here in this wild abyss!—Abode congenial to thy lightless mind.Ye black huge rocks, drear, mountainous, and stern,First-born of chaos, everlasting pilesAnd monuments of the creation—hail!Around your heads the thunder rolls in vain,And the fierce lightnings from your summits bareTurn harmless. Frown, frown on, ye giants stern,Majestic emblems of eternity!The torrents are your tongues, and with their roarTalk of your dignity for ever. Hail!White foaming, thundering, falls the boiling flood;Rocks clash, and echo mocks the horrid din,While man appalled, stands breathless, in amaze,And, filled with awe, exalts his thoughts to Him,Who was, who is, and aye must be supreme!
Thou of the stormy soul, who left behindThe love of sunny skies and smiling vales,With thy fresh boyhood; thou upon whose browStern care hath written gloom, and worldly wrongsMade darksome; hither bend thy leaden steps,And find a home here in this wild abyss!—Abode congenial to thy lightless mind.Ye black huge rocks, drear, mountainous, and stern,First-born of chaos, everlasting pilesAnd monuments of the creation—hail!Around your heads the thunder rolls in vain,And the fierce lightnings from your summits bareTurn harmless. Frown, frown on, ye giants stern,Majestic emblems of eternity!The torrents are your tongues, and with their roarTalk of your dignity for ever. Hail!White foaming, thundering, falls the boiling flood;Rocks clash, and echo mocks the horrid din,While man appalled, stands breathless, in amaze,And, filled with awe, exalts his thoughts to Him,Who was, who is, and aye must be supreme!
Just above the bridge is a semicircular rock, which forms a salmon-leap, over which the salmon, at spawning time, first lodge themselves at the height of five or six yards. Proceeding through the pass, at every step new wonders met the eye. The late heavy rains had swollen the mountain waterfalls, and caused a terrific torrent to roar and struggle through a narrow channel; for the mountains, forming this southern end of the vale, approach so near to each other, thatthey only afford a contracted flow for the river, and a narrow road, while their rocky sides rise so perpendicularly, that their summits are scarcely farther distant from each other than their foundations. The rushing river was a pure sheet of white; furious, uncontrollable; nothing but the immense blocks riven from the mountain’s craggy sides could withstand its dreadful impetuosity. A few stunted fir and larch trees at the commencement of the pass were seen starting from the dark clefts upon either side, which threw a deeper shade upon this awful valley.
Cradock calls this pass “the noblest specimen of thefinely horridthe eye can possibly behold. The poet,” he continues, “has not described, nor the painter pictured so gloomy a retreat. ’Tis the last approach to the mansion of Pluto, through the regions of Despair.” I could have stopped for hours to admire this splendid example of the sublimity of Nature, but time pressed, so I pushed on to Beddgelert which is not more than a mile and a half from the bridge. A solitary mountain ash which grows about half way up the pass, is the sole bright thing in this abode of terror, and looks like Beauty in desolation. Emerging from the pass there is a stonewhich is called the chair of Rhys Gôch o’r’ Ryri; a famous mountain bard who lived in the time of Owen Glyndwr. He resided at the entrance into the Traeth Mawr Sands, from whence he used to walk, and sitting upon this stone compose his poems. He died in 1420, at the advanced age of 120 years; he was a gentleman of property, and was buried in the ancient priory at
Some are of opinion that this word should be written Celert or Cilert, Bedd-Cilert, or Cilert’s grave; supposing that a monk or saint of that name was buried here. Another celebrated bard was entombed at this place, named Daffydd Nanmor, who died about the year 1460.
The Goat is an excellent inn, and every attention the traveller can desire is paid with the greatest celerity. Twenty post horses are kept at this inn for travellers, and eight or ten ponys for the accommodation of those visitors who wish to ascend Snowdon with ease and safety.[240]
At nine o’clock, I strolled from the inn to the bridge, where I was joined by a peasant, who, by his appearance, promised to be communicative.It was a lovely evening; there was no moon, but the clear sky displayed its burning host, in beautiful array. No breath of air disturbed the silent slumbers of the peaceful woods. The lull of rippling waters alone struck upon the ear, yielding a solemn tone like the deep swell of the organ, breaking upon the deepest solitude.
In such a situation how indescribable is the feeling which takes possession of us! What language can express, what tongue can utter it? My very breathing seemed to disturb the excessive sweetness of nature’s melody.
“This is a very pretty place, sir,” said the peasant, interrupting my reverie.
“It is indeed,” I replied.
“I suppose, sir, you’ve been to visit the grave of Gelert, Llewellyn’s hound?”
“I have. Do you believe the legend?”
“Indeed, sir, I do,” said he with a sigh; “but I never thought a man could feel so much for the death of a brute, until last year—hai how!”
This observation made me inquisitive to know what had so suddenly changed his opinions. “What has caused you, my friend, to believein a legend so suddenly, which you never gave any credence to before?”
“Why sir, I’ll tell you; you must know that I had a favourite pointer bitch,Truan Bac. Oh, she was the beautifullest creature you ever saw. She was the pride of the country; and gentlemen would come to me and say, ‘William, will you lend me your little bitch to go a shooting on the mountains—only for a day? Because you see, sir, there was not her equal in all Wales, for a single dog; ay, and she’d back as staunch as any on ’em, and a better retriever never went into a field. Such a nose! ah! poor wench; I never knew thy equal! You must think, sir, I was very loath to let her go without me, for I bred her, and broke her in—though very little breaking she wanted;—and you know, sir, a good dog is soon spoilt by a bad sportsman, and the creatures be as fond of a good shot, as he be fond of shooting to a good dog. No day was too long for her when the scent lay. The motion of your hand was enough for her; to the right, or left, or take the fences. She’d never baulk her game, or make a false point; if the birds had just gone off, you might know she was doubtful by aleetlemotion in hertail. But, if she stood stiff and staunch, you might bet a guinea to a mushroom that there was game before her, and you’d nothing to do but to go up and take your shot. Down she was to charge, and, if you bade her, she would bring your bird without ruffling a feather. Well, sir, the beginning of last August unfortunately she had a litter of pups. ’Twas a cross breed,ysywaith!—and I got the butcher’s boy to destroy them, which he did, and buried them in the muck heap, at the back of the stable. From that time, she would never stir from her bed, that was under the manger. My dame took her her food as usual, and placed it just inside the stable door. My little boy, Billy, went next day, with a mess of potatoes and barley meal, but told his mother that Rose had’nt eat up her yesterday’s mess. Ah! she cried, she’ll eat it when she’s hungry, I warrant her. Billy went next evening, but her victuals were untouched, and, when he went to coax her, she growled at him, and showed her teeth—a thing she never in her life had done before to any living being; so he was frightened, and told me of it next morning, and I went to the stable to see her. Her meat was all dried up in the tub, and, when I went to her, she seemed nothing but skin andbones. I called her Rose! poor Rose! she slowly raised up her head, opened her bloodshot eyes, and moaned so piteously! I thought she was dying. I held her a little milk; she just moistened her tongue, and gave one wag of her tail, as much as to say, thank you, master; and her head dropt again, and her eyes closed. I knew ’twas four days since she had eaten any thing. I put some food by her, and went to my work. When I returned at night, the first thing I did was to go into the stable, where I found the food untouched and my poor little bitch dead, cold and stiff. I shall never forget it—wela!wela!—I drew her from under the manger, and what do you think, sir? I’ll be shot, if there warn’t her five little pups that the butcher’s boy had kill’d!—she had dug them out of the dung-hill one by one, and laid them in her kennel, and, fearing they would be taken from her again she concealed them with her body, and died through starvation, rather than give ’em up! Wasn’t that nature, sir? I’m almost ashamed to say it; but indeed, sir, I wiped away tears from my cheeks, when I saw that sight. I took her up in my arms, and buried her and her young litter in the same grave; and since that time I never refuse my belief to the stories I hear ofsurprising instances of devoted affection, gratitude, and instinct, in any of her race.Wela!wela!
“But sir, if you should come this way on your return, and should want a day or two’s good sport on the mountains, I’ve got a dog that’s second to none in the country, and I shall be proud to serve you.”
I promised, if I should find it convenient to return by the first of September, to engage his dog, if not previously hired; and bidding him follow me to the Goat, I ordered for him a tumbler of whiskey-punch, which spirit is as much esteemed in Snowdonia as in the mountains of Wicklow.
Departure from Beddgelert—Vortigern’s Hill—Snowdon—Llynn Gwynant—Lines written upon Llynn Gwynant—Gwrydd—Public Houses—Lake Fishing—A Night Adventure—Pass of Llanberis—Legend of the Giant’s Night-Cap—The Lakes—The Castle of Dolbadarn and Legend—View of the Lakes.
“Oh, who hath stood on Snowdon’s side,And glanced o’er Mona’s virgin pride;And gazed on fatal Moel y don,But thought of those once there undone?When Saxons, and their foreign band,Were crushed by the sons of the mountain land.”T. J. Llewelyn Grichard.
“Oh, who hath stood on Snowdon’s side,And glanced o’er Mona’s virgin pride;And gazed on fatal Moel y don,But thought of those once there undone?When Saxons, and their foreign band,Were crushed by the sons of the mountain land.”
T. J. Llewelyn Grichard.
Onthe following morning I quitted the inn, where every attention was shewn that a traveller could desire, and proceeded over the Ivy bridge, through which the Gwynant flowed,deep and smooth as glass, without an obstruction to ruffle its clear waters, that glided along, kissing its verdant banks, like the stream of a happy life. Quietude reigned in this region uninterrupted. About half a mile from Beddgelert, a rocky eminence projects into the road, calledVortigern’s Hill, orDinas Emrys, a magician, who was sent for to this place by Vortigern, when he found himself hated by his subjects, and fled from their just anger to this secluded spot. Passing this memorable place, a round clump of rock attracts the eye, rising as it were in the centre of the valley, and calledMoel Wynn. Looking backward,Moel Hebog, the Hawk hill, rises majestically and closes up the entrance to Beddgelert. Moel Shebbod towers in front, and, as we pursued our delightful path, about two miles and a half from Beddgelert, an opening of the hills upon the left displayed a deep gorge, and the base of Snowdon, whose high peak, rising in the unclouded skies, held up the holy symbol of Christianity, as in adoration of the Creator. At length, I reachedLlynn Dinas, a lake of about three quarters of a mile in extent, through which the Gwynant runs; it is surrounded by lofty mountains of a deeper tint than is usually seen upon the Welsh hills. Abeautifully situated cottage here at the far end of the lake, belonging to Mr. Sampson, nestles among the protecting woods, and forms a delightful object. The river which feeds the lake, winds through the verdant and undulating grounds which form a miniature park, between the cottage and the lake. Following up the course of the stream, I left Llynn Dinas behind me, and proceeded by a gradual ascent through the most delightful scenery I ever beheld, until I caught glimpses through the plantations of
and after a while beheld it stretching beneath me upon my left hand. The valley forms a bowl among the hills. The bottom is a small grassy plain, dotted with trees, which has obtained the appellation of Beauty sleeping in the lap of Terror. The mountains that surround the vale, have a wild and rugged appearance. As I proceeded along the road towards the head of the valley, a horn was sounded from the mountain, and I perceived a Welsh girl standing upon a projecting eminence: bare headed and bare footed, was this nymph of Cambria; her cheeks were swelled out with her occupation, and shelooked like a femaleBoreas, bursting with the wind she was sending forth by degrees to alarm theworld.
She eyed me with glances of curiosity all the while, and I thought she could perhaps give me some information about the valley, which might be interesting; so quitting the direct road, I scrambled up the hill side, and asked her the meaning of her sounding the horn so loudly? But she either did not, or would not, understand me; and after vainly endeavouring to extract any thing from her, I quietly sat myself down, delighted by the splendid view beneath me, and gave vent to my feelings in the following lines:
Llynn Gwynant, Llynn Gwynant! how bless’d should I be,When the winter of life crowns my temples with snow,To rest on thy margin, with her who loves me,And children whose love gathers strength as they grow.There are mountains whose peaks rise more lofty by far,And valleys more spacious and fertile to view,But of all the high hills and green glens that there are,Llynn Gwynant give me, with its waters of blue.Lynn Gwynant, Lynn Gwynant! I bid thee farewell,Where peace in the beauty of solitude glows,Again in the cold hearted city to dwell,And pine for the calm of thy blissful repose.Farewell to the lake with the surface of glass,Brown heath and blue mountains—abode of the free!This heart, like the flood from the highFfynnon Las,[250]Will leap from its gloom to find rapture in thee.
Llynn Gwynant, Llynn Gwynant! how bless’d should I be,When the winter of life crowns my temples with snow,To rest on thy margin, with her who loves me,And children whose love gathers strength as they grow.
There are mountains whose peaks rise more lofty by far,And valleys more spacious and fertile to view,But of all the high hills and green glens that there are,Llynn Gwynant give me, with its waters of blue.
Lynn Gwynant, Lynn Gwynant! I bid thee farewell,Where peace in the beauty of solitude glows,Again in the cold hearted city to dwell,And pine for the calm of thy blissful repose.
Farewell to the lake with the surface of glass,Brown heath and blue mountains—abode of the free!This heart, like the flood from the highFfynnon Las,[250]Will leap from its gloom to find rapture in thee.
Having nearly reached the extremity of this valley, I gazed, from my elevated situation, upon the dark and perpendicular rocks on the opposite side; and towering in the air immediately over the centre of the valley was an eagle with expanded wings, apparently motionless. Presently it rose a little higher, but without the slightest visible exertion, then stooped again, mounted once more, and, as fast as the eye could follow, swept round the huge buttresses of sharp ridged cliffs, that hang over the entrance of the pass of Llanberis.
As Llynn Gwynant is gradually shut out from the lingering gaze of the traveller, (who it maybe said during the whole of the ascent, should turn his eyes behind him), and he at length looks forward in the direction of Llanberris, a new scene of grandeur bursts upon him. He has left beauty behind in its loveliest form;—but the sublime and wonderful now call forth all the springs of admiration.
Snowdon, from the Pass of Llyn Gwynant
Snowdon again appears in all his splendor! Mountains that by comparison looked like hillocks rise round his regal waist, in groups numerous and picturesque. The deep black crags that form the western side of the valley make a magnificent fore-ground, and open here like nature’s gates, to disclose the secrets of her bosom.
The accompanying etching, gives an admirable idea of this imposing scene. About a mile from hence is a place called Gwrydd, where there is a small public house, with a sign signifying nothing. Here I resolved to “rough it” for a day, intending to fish the lakes, situated immediately above this spot, as nature’s cisterns to water the pleasant valleys.
The public house possesses a small parlour, carpetted, with half a dozen hair-bottomed chairs, and a mahogany table. A silent but most importunate monitor urged me to discoverwhat food this mountain chalet could produce. “Eggs and bacon,” was the expected reply to my question; and I soon had the pleasure of seeing this humble, but most grateful, fare placed before me, and in spite of the indifferent style of the cooking, I partook of it eagerly, having that incomparable sauce “a good appetite.”
After I had repaired my broken rod, I ascended the mountain at the back of the house, and arrived at a large oval lake, in which the black and sterile rocks that form inaccessible ramparts on one side are reflected in its generally unruffled surface. The scene is wild and desolate, such as Despair herself would select for her abode. There are plenty of fish in this lake, but they are all small and extremely shy. I remained upon its margin until the shadows of night gave me warning to attend to my safety, and make the best of my way to my lodging, where I speedily ascended by a ladder-like staircase to a kind of cock-loft which was divided into two compartments, one for the accommodation of the family, man, wife, children and servants, the other fitted up for travellers. Sleep soon overtook me, and I should have continuedto sleep, I have no doubt, until breakfast time, had I not been awakened by a trifling accident.
“At the mid hour of night, when stars were weeping,”
“At the mid hour of night, when stars were weeping,”
and ghosts of the mighty walk upon the hills, with a variety of other interesting objects that poets and nursery maids have described infinitely better than I can pretend to do, I was visited by a dream in which the ghost of a lobster popped his head out of a salad bowl, and demanded upon what authority I had presumed to make mince-meat of his body, when a loud crash roused me from my slumber, and I found myself with my knees, doubled up to my chin upon the floor; the bedstead having broken in the middle, and deposited me in this unenviable position. I need not say that for the remaining part of the night, I was wholly left to waking reveries, and uncontrollable desires for the blessings of daylight, which at last greeted my longing eyes, and hurrying on my clothes, I descended and walked forth to scent the morning air, in the direction of Llanberris. The mists rolled like troubled lakes in the valleys, and the black bleak rocks looked cheerless and forbidding.The breeze was keen and piercing, and I started at a round pace to get myself warm by exercise. Having reached the summit of the roadway, I plunged at once into the pass of Llanberis, wild and gloomy. The precipices on my left looked truly terrible, like the shadow of death wrapped in a vapoury shroud. This pass is above four miles in length, and is a fine specimen of rugged grandeur. Not a single tree enlivens with its verdure this tremendous chasm. Range above range of rocks tower over the traveller upon either side, bearing various tints of black, brown, green and purple, according to the disposition of the sun’s rays, and the distances of the ponderous masses. The rocks on both sides are nearly perpendicular; and, about two miles down the pass, the tourist will perceive some prodigious masses of rock upon his right hand that have fallen from the overhanging cliffs, which, when he pauses to look upon, will strike a feeling of terror into his heart, as he inwardly exclaims, “could any one have witnessed the descent of this tremendous mass?” The accompanying sketch gives a most accurate description.
Pass of Llanberis
I stood contemplating this scene, and suddenly a wild shout roused me from my reverie.
“Halloo, halloo! over—over—over!”
I turned my eyes up the mountain to my left, and there saw a shepherd, forming a speaking trumpet with his hands, and shouting to a dog (of what kind heaven knows, but in my opinion a thorough bred mongrel), and the fleet animal was dashing down the hill in the direction to where I stood. In an instant, he had passed me. It was a perfect nondescript! a thing that looked like the offspring of a French poodle and a Welsh goat; such a mass of hair, rags and wool, I never before beheld. I sat watching his progress, which was exceedingly rapid, and as I marked him, as he scrambled up the opposite craggs, I could not help admiring the instinct (or training) of the wretched looking animal. Sheep after sheep did it pursue, and drive down into the hollow from which they had strayed—some of them leading him a chase (of no enviable description) nearly to the summit of the barren mountain; but, with untired feet and unceasing bark, he tracked and outstripped them all, and, in conclusion, forced them into the bounds allotted for them at the bottom of the vale, where a scanty supply of grass served for them to browse upon. This duty done, thefaithful animal left them, and again crossing the valley, rushed by me and rejoined his master.
I was about to pursue my journey, when I perceived a man fishing in the stream beneath. I descended to learn what sport he had met with, and found he had not been fortunate. I asked him if he remembered the time, when the huge rock, I have before noticed, fell from the brow of the precipice?
“It would be hard for me to do that, sir,” said the fisherman, who laying his rod upon the ground, seemed desirous of saying something more upon the subject.
“Is there any legend about it?” I inquired.
“Indeed, sir, there is,” replied he; “and, if you’ll only stop till I put up my tackle, as I suppose you’re going to Llanberis, I’ll tell you as much as I know about the matter.”
I remarked, as he spoke, an expression of countenance that told me he thought tale telling might prove more profitable than trout fishing; but I readily agreed to his proposition, and in a few minutes we were trudging, side by side, along the road towards the village.
I dare say, sir, you havn’t come so far, without seeingCader Idris, or theChair of Idris,as it is called, for IdrisGawryou must know, sir, was a famous giant of his day, but whether you have or not, he had a brother, sir, as I’ve been told,Dyn Ddu o’r’ Craig, which means the black man of the craig, who had a very fine castle upon the top of that precipice, at the foot of which you noticed those large pieces of rock. Well, sir, he never loved his brother, but he had a great liking for his niece; one of the prettiest girls, ’twas thought, ever seen in this part of the country; but she was to be married to a fine young hero, one of the knights of King Arthur’s round table, who had done wonders for her sake, and made all the world confessMerch Idriswas the most beautiful creature in the world.
Well, sir, she was mortally afraid of her uncle, for he had a head as big as the top of Snowdon, and a forest of whiskers, and a beard that a man might take a day’s shooting in, without tearing his coat with the branches; so that he never could be conquered, having so much game in him, ha! ha! ha!—You’ll excuse me, sir, but what a comfortable thing it must be for a man to catch birds enough in his whiskers, to serve him for dinner!—Well, sir, it happened that Merch Idris was benightedbetween Capel Curig and her father’s castle, and, as she had only one attendant, and he was a poor weak coward, you may easily suppose she was for getting home as fast as possible; but a storm came on, and the night closed round them, and by some means or other they lost their way; for you know, sir, at that time there were no turnpike roads, as there are now, and they wandered about upon their merlins until nightfall, without knowing what part of the world they were in; when all of a sudden, the servant’s beast, who went first, sank into a bog, up to his neck; and his rider began to roar for help so loudly, that the lady’s animal took fright, set off at full speed, and never stopped until they came to the gates of a large castle. The night was so dark, she couldn’t make out whether she had ever seen it before or not; however, she thought it would be better to blow the horn at the gate, and ask for shelter, than wander about the mountains all night, at the risk of breaking her neck, or being smothered in a quagmire. So she blew a blast (for at that time o’ day every great lady played upon some instrument or other, and this young lady surpassed all others upon the horn) so loud, that presently a warden called out from the top of atower. “Who’s there?” Well, she mustered up courage enough to say, she was “A lady in great distress.”