Wild Wales

"Any thieves about?"

"No, no thieves here, but what come from England," and he looked at me with a strange, grim smile.

"What is become of the red-haired robbers of Mawddwy?"

"Ah," said the old man, staring at me, "I see you are a c.u.mro. The red-haired thieves of Mawddwy! I see you are from these parts."

"What's become of them?"

"Oh, dead, hung. Lived long time ago; long before eagle left Tap Nyth."

He spoke true. The red-haired banditti of Mawddwy were exterminated long before the conclusion of the sixteenth century, after having long been the terror not only of these wild regions but of the greater part of North Wales. They were called the red-haired banditti because certain leading individuals amongst them had red foxy hair.

"Is that young man your son?" said I, after a little pause.

"Yes, he my son."

"Has he any English?"

"No, he no English, but he plenty of Welsh-that is if he see reason."

I spoke to the young man in Welsh, asking him if he had ever been up to the Tap Nyth, but he made no answer.

"He no care for your question," said the old man; "ask him price of pig."

I asked the young fellow the price of hogs, whereupon his face brightened up, and he not only answered my question, but told me that he had a fat hog to sell. "Ha, ha," said the old man; "he plenty of Welsh now, for he see reason. To other question he no Welsh at all, no more than English, for he see no reason. What business he on Tap Nyth with eagle? His business down below in sty with pig. Ah, he look lump, but he no fool; know more about pig than you or I, or any one 'twixt here and Mahuncleth."

He now asked me where I came from, and on my telling him from Bala, his heart appeared to warm towards me, and saying that I must be tired, he asked me to step in and drink b.u.t.termilk, but I declined his offer with thanks, and bidding the two adieu returned to the road.

I hurried along and soon reached a valley which abounded with trees and gra.s.s; I crossed a bridge over a brook, not what the old man had called the Dyfi, but the stream whose source I had seen high up the bwlch, and presently came to a place where the two waters joined. Just below the confluence on a fallen tree was seated a man decently dressed; his eyes were fixed on the rus.h.i.+ng stream. I stopped and spoke to him.

He had no English, but I found him a very sensible man. I talked to him about the source of the Dyfi. He said it was a disputed point which was the source. He himself was inclined to believe that it was the Pistyll up the bwlch. I asked him of what religion he was. He said he was of the Church of England, which was the Church of his father and his grandfather, and which he believed to be the only true Church. I inquired if it flourished. He said it did, but that it was dreadfully persecuted by all cla.s.ses of dissenters, who though they were continually quarrelling with one another agreed in one thing namely to persecute the Church. I asked him if he ever read. He said he read a great deal, especially

said he smiling. "Saer. Farewell, brother," said I; "I am not a carpenter, but like you I read the works of Huw Morris and am of the Church of England." I then shook him by the hand and departed.

I pa.s.sed a village with a stupendous mountain just behind it to the north, which I was told was called Moel Vrith or the party-coloured moel.

I was now drawing near to the western end of the valley. Scenery of the wildest and most picturesque description was rife and plentiful to a degree: hills were here, hills were there; some tall and sharp, others huge and humpy; hills were on every side; only a slight opening to the west seemed to present itself. "What a valley!" I exclaimed. But on pa.s.sing through the opening I found myself in another, wilder and stranger, if possible. Full to the west was a long hill rising up like the roof of a barn, a enormous round hill on its north-east side, and on its south-east the tail of the range which I had long had on my left-there were trees and groves and running waters, but all in deep shadow, for night was now close at hand.

"What is the name of this place?" I shouted to a man on horseback, who came das.h.i.+ng through a brook with a woman in a Welsh dress behind him.

"Aber Cowarch, Saxon!" said the man in a deep guttural voice, and las.h.i.+ng his horse disappeared rapidly in the shades of night.

"Aber Cywarch!" I cried, springing half a yard into the air. "Why that's the place where Ellis Wynn composed his immortal _Sleeping Bard_, the book which I translated in the blessed days of my youth. O no wonder that the _Sleeping Bard_ is a wild and wondrous work, seeing that it was composed amidst the wild and wonderful scenes which I here behold."

I proceeded onwards up an ascent; after some time I came to a bridge across a stream which a man told me was called Avon Gerres. It runs into the Dyfi, coming down with a rus.h.i.+ng sound from a wild vale to the north-east between the huge barn-like hill and Moel Vrith. The barn-like hill I was informed was called Pen Dyn. I soon reached Dinas Mawddwy which stands on the lower part of a high hill connected with the Pen Dyn.

Dinas, though at one time a place of considerable importance, if we may judge from its name which signifies a fortified city, is at present little more than a collection of filthy huts. But though a dirty squalid place, I found it anything but silent and deserted. Fierce-looking red-haired men, who seemed as if they might be descendants of the red-haired banditti of old, were staggering about, and sounds of drunken revelry echoed from the huts. I subsequently learned that Dinas was the head-quarters of miners, the neighbourhood abounding with mines both of lead and stone. I was glad to leave it behind me. Mallwyd is to the south of Dinas-the way to it is by a romantic gorge down which flows the Royal Dyfi. As I proceeded along this gorge the moon rising above Moel Vrith illumined my path. In about half-an-hour I found myself before the inn at Mallwyd.

CHAPTER LXXV

Inn at Mallwyd-A Dialogue-The _c.u.mro_.

I entered the inn and seeing a comely-looking damsel at the bar I told her that I was in need of supper and a bed. She conducted me into a neat sanded parlour where a good fire was blazing and asked me what I would have for supper. "Whatever you can most readily provide," said I; "I am not particular." The maid retired, and taking off my hat, and disenc.u.mbering myself of my satchel I sat down before the fire and fell into a doze, in which I dreamed of some of the wild scenes through which I had lately pa.s.sed.

I dozed and dozed till I was roused by the maid touching me on the shoulder and telling me that supper was ready. I got up and perceived that during my doze she had laid the cloth and put supper upon the table.

It consisted of bacon and eggs. During supper I had some conversation with the maid.

_Myself_.-Are you a native of this place?

_Maid_.-I am not, sir; I come from Dinas.

_Myself_.-Are your parents alive?

_Maid_.-My mother is alive, sir, but my father is dead.

_Myself_.-Where does your mother live?

_Maid_.-At Dinas, sir.

_Myself_.-How does she support herself?

_Maid_.-By letting lodgings to miners, sir.

_Myself_.-Are the miners quiet lodgers?

_Maid_.-Not always, sir; sometimes they get up at night and fight with each other.

_Myself_.-What does your mother do on those occasions?

_Maid_.-She draws the quilt over her head, and says her prayers, sir.

_Myself_.-Why doesn't she get up and part them?

_Maid_.-Lest she should get a punch or a thwack for her trouble, sir.

_Myself_.-Of what religion are the miners?

_Maid_.-They are Methodists, if they are anything; but they don't trouble their heads much about religion.

_Myself_.-Of what religion are you?

_Maid_.-I am of the Church, sir.

_Myself_.-Did you always belong to the Church?

_Maid_.-Not always. When I was at Dinas I used to hear the preacher, but since I have been here I have listened to the clergyman.

_Myself_.-Is the clergyman here a good man?