BARMOUTH,
the coach stopped at the Cors-y-gedol arms; but I proceeded to the Commercial inn, where there is very good accommodation, and a good look-out seaward. A warm bath of sea water refreshed me; and by the star light I strolled upon the sands, which are very hard and pleasant to walk upon, while my repast was preparing at the inn. The night was calm and serene, and my mind naturally adapted itself to the surrounding scene. “The brave o’erhanging firmament—the majestical roof fretted with golden fire,” appeared to me far from being “a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.” My soul took wing, and bounded from star to star, leaping the realms of space, and plunging into infinity, till wearied with its immeasurable flight, it resought its earthly tenement, and my body, which it left immoveable, as if transformed to marble, resumed its functions. The low moan of the ocean swam on my ear, like heavenly music. A light breeze brought with it delicious freshness; and, as I looked towards the land, all seemed as quiet as the abode of peace. The lights from the houses had a pleasing effect, as they streamed through the windows, row above row, under and upon the side of the overhanging cliffs.
I returned to “mine inn,” and my meal being despatched, retired to bed.
CHAPTER VII.
Description of Barmouth—Sketch of the Town—The Estuary—Friar’s Island—Dinas Gortin—Earl of Richmond—Anecdote of the men of Ardudwy, and the men of Denbighshire—Mostyn Hall—A pic-nic party—Llyn Cwm Bychan—Carreg y Saeth—The Witch of Cwm Bychan—Legendary Tale—Bwlch Tyddiad—A mountain ride and a regretful farewell.
“The mountayne men live longer many a yeare
Then those in vale, in plaine, or marrish soyle;
A lustie hart, a cleene complexion cleere,
They have on hill that for hard living toyle;
With ewe and lambe, with goats and kinds they play,
In greatest toyles to rub out wearie day;
And when to house and home good fellowes draw
The lads can laugh at turning of a strawe.”CHURCHYARD.
Barmouth, or Aber-Maw, derives its name from being situated at the embouchure of the river Maw or Mawddach, which at the entrance is obstructed by a bar. The old town, viewed from the sea, resembles a fortress of some strength, hanging immediately over the sands. In most cases a lofty situation is an advantage, but here it is the reverse; for so steep is the side of the cliff on which it stands, that the inhabitants of the upper regions are completely smoke-dried from the chimneys of all the dwellings beneath.
The new town stands at the base of the rock, and but for some mounds of sand, that appear likely to grow into mountains by the influence of the winds and waves, would inevitably be washed away by the spring tides. Some of the fishermen’s habitations on the beach are at times buried in the drifting sands; and, after a strong wind from the seaward, the inhabitants generally labour hard to clear the obstruction from their doors.
Barmouth had few visitors during my stay, and from the report of those I met with, is greatly decreasing in popularity, which says but little in favour of the lovers of fine scenery. When the tide is at full, the panorama around the estuary cannot be surpassed in beauty. The majestic river winds amongst rocks, clad with purple heather, or projecting in barren grandeur, that lift their jagged summits tier over tier, and peak overtopping peak, while still tremendous, towering over all, the lofty Idris looms in the back ground. Green hills and woody promontories, forests that stretch into the dark recesses of the mountains, villas and copsewood glens, give an endless variety to the romantic scene.
The town contains about 2,000 inhabitants, and there is a manufactory of flannels and woollen stockings.
At noon, as I was basking upon the sands, or Friar’s island, which is situated at the mouth of the river, I had the pleasure to see my new acquaintance and friend gallop into the town, and old Charon having ferried me from the island to the main land once more, I hastened to welcome him, as fast as my damaged limb would suffer me. He proposed driving me to Mostyn Hall, the seat of the Hon. E. M. L. Mostyn; which being agreed to, I ordered dinner to be ready at our return, and we started. The drive upon the Harlech road is bleak; upon the right, the hills are barren; and seaward, beneath the road, is an extensive flat, consisting chiefly of bog land and far from interesting. About a mile and a half from the town, stands the church of Llan Aber, upon the extreme verge of a cliff which overlooks the ocean. The Carnaervonshire mountains have a fine effect stretching into the sea; of which the Rivals, with their lofty peaks, are noble objects in the distance. Following the chain, the eye rests for a moment upon Garn Bodean, and in the flat between it and Garn Madryn is the town of Pwllhely. The chain is resumed at Rhew mountain, and terminates at Aberdarron point, three leagues from which is Bardsey Island, a conspicuous and interesting object; for there dwelt the bards of old, amongst whom were numbered the fathers of science, the national interpreters, musicians, and legislators, priests, and princes of Cambria. With their oratory they soothed the savage ignorance of mankind into civilization and knowledge, and polished their minds with the powerful aid of music and poetry. After the dreadful slaughter of the monks of Bangor, those who survived took shelter upon this island. A few ruined walls alone remain of the ancient abbey; and the inhabitants, who do not exceed one hundred persons, support themselves chiefly by fishing.
About three miles from Barmouth, upon the summit of the mountain called Dinas Gortin, are the remains of a military encampment, and near to the town there stood a tower, where it is said the Earl of Richmond used to conceal himself, when he visited his secret allies in this part of the country.
Near the military station, are the tombs of the celebrated men of Ardudwy; who, in imitation of the Roman robbers, made an excursion into Denbighshire, and overcoming the men, forcibly tore the women from their families, and returned in triumph with them to their own country.
But the men of Denbighshire, rallying, pursued the spoilers, and overtaking them in the pass of Drws ardydwy, routed them with great slaughter. But the infatuated women had by this time conceived so extraordinary a passion for their violators, that rather than survive their loss, or perhaps more probably, to escape the fury of their former husbands, they drowned themselves in a lake, which is called the pool of Morwynion.
About two miles further, a road up a steep ascent, conducted us to a fine avenue of trees, through which we passed, and at the termination of it came to a handsome gateway, called Pat Mawr, which admitted us into the mansion of Cors y gedol, which has nothing in it to interest the tourist. The interior of the building is incommodious and inelegant. The drawing-room contains a few wretched portraits and high-backed chairs; and the rest of the apartments are meanly furnished. The only object of interest is a window, out of which the Earl of Richmond, afterwards Henry VII, is said to have leaped, when a party of Richard III’s soldiers attempted to apprehend him; it is called the king’s window.
We returned to Barmouth by the sea shore, and, after a most delightful drive upon Neptune’s boundaries, arrived at the inn, where the evening was passed in conviviality, tempered with prudence, and sweetened by social and interesting conversation. As I had determined upon proceeding to Harlech the following day, my companion was resolved to make the journey as agreeable as possible, and requesting me to forward my knap-sack &c., by the coach, informed me that he would be ready to accompany me in the morning. Requesting him, therefore, to be early at breakfast, we parted for the night.
After despatching a hasty meal next morning, the word was given “to horse and away.” My old favourite who bore me so gallantly to the black cataract, was again resigned to my care, and I to his, gentle as a lamb, proud as a war horse and agile as an antelope. I felt like an Arab, on his steed, and I thought I could defy the winds to overtake me. We proceeded once more to Mostyn Hall, which was the appointed spot of rendezvous for a pic-nic party. Here I had the happiness of meeting some of the choicest flowers of the Welsh Highlands. Youth, beauty, freedom, and innocence, beamed from the laughing eyes and unsullied cheeks of our fair companions. The “how d’ye do’s?” “glad to see you,” “fine morning,” &c. &c., being ended, we moved forward in a formidable cavalcade. Mirth, wit and pleasure played on the lips and sparkled in the eyes of the whole party; and the animals that bore us seemed to partake of the general feeling, by pricking up their glossy ears, and bounding over the rugged road with more spirit than prudence. Much mirth was occasioned by the opening of gates, and crossing of brooks. At length, the party plunged into a beautiful wood. I paused upon an eminence, to mark the effect as they descended; it was picturesque in the extreme, as at intervals, through the openings, I caught a partial glimpse of the troop, pursuing their cheerful way down the steep path. Pleased with the sight, I passed the party at a gallop, and arriving at the foot of the hill, remained upon a bridge, close by the woodman’s cottage, which crosses a mountain stream, watching their approach.
It was delightful to see them advancing one by one through the thick foliage which hung on either side of the path, and arching over their heads. On arriving at the foot of the descent, the party drew up, and, had an artist been among us, I am confident he would have produced a picture, which, even on the lifeless canvass, would have delighted the connoisseurs of Somerset House.
The variety of costume, the colour of the horses, the general sensation of delight which lighted up the features of the gay group; the picturesque cottage and bridge, the broad rushing stream, the waving woods, with now and then a glimpse of the sterile mountains, peeping above the beautiful fertility, formed a landscape which Salvator Rosa himself would have been delighted to delineate.
Penetrating through a woody maze, a glen upon our right, and huge wild masses of rock towering above our heads, we passed Crafnant; a house situated in the deep shade of the lonely wood, the residence of Mr. Owen, a surgeon; who, from our not having for a long range of country encountered a civilized residence, barring the woodman’s cottage, I felt half inclined to think was only attendant on the quadrupeds of the mountain. The rocks now assumed a wild and threatening aspect upon our left, as we emerged into a more open track, and entered upon the domain of Dolwreiddiog, where Mr. Mawhans has a snug shooting box, a little beyond which, commences perhaps the wildest scenery in North Wales. Descending by a rocky path, we came to