HARLECH CASTLE.
The present castle was built by Edward I. in 1283, upon the ruins of one erected by Maelgwn 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.
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, marching through 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 Sir Richard’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 windows of 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 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 the soles had nearly left their bodies, 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?”
“I was, 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.
THE OAKLEY ARMS.
TAN Y BWLCH.
I was tired, and gladly resigned my dilapidated boots to the care of my soles’ 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 in endeavouring 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. Look at 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 they meant 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. I obeyed 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 opens her 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 witch
Does 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 home
In sickness and in pain;
And I must haste to sell my work,
And much I have to spare,
That I may purchase winter store
To free her mind from care.
For she is old, and quite infirm,
And child hath none but me,
And oh her heart is yearning now
My face again to see.”TRAVELLER.
“Cold is the heart that would not beat
To see that face of thine,
Where sweet simplicity hath traced
Her lineaments divine.”
She turned away her head to hide
A 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 walk
Beneath the drenching rain,
But tarry here until the sun
Shines brightly forth again.”
Her hose were bought, she sought her home
With smiles upon her face;
Her heart was light, her eyes were bright
Her every motion, grace.
And happy was the traveller’s heart
When 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 used upon 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.
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 the Prince 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 nearly dry 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.